


Life And What Comes After

by Ibelin



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Background Anakin/Padme, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Im Not That Kind Of Writer, Obi-Wan Is Not Actually Dead, Unrealistically Well-Adjusted Anakin Skywalker, not as much as you would expect from an amnesia fic tho, the working title of this fic was Amnesia Fluff AU so take that as you will
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-08-12 18:03:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7944052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ibelin/pseuds/Ibelin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obi-Wan dies on Jabiim. Anakin blames himself, doesn't know how to go on and yet - he does. Maybe the Force rewards that kind of thing, or maybe he just gets lucky, but when a mission lands Anakin on a vaguely familiar planet, he gets a second chance to do what he knows he should have done in the first place: save his master. </p><p>(And maybe a chance to save the galaxy, too.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Sixth Stage

The door opened with a soft swish as soon as Anakin pressed his palm to the chime, and Padme stood up from the couch. Her datapad fell to the seat cushion as she ran to him.

“Anakin!”

“Padme.” He stepped fully into her apartment and let the door shut behind him, trying to smile.

It must not have looked quite right, because Anakin could feel her already-sharp concern deepen as she wrapped her arms around him and let him fold her into a tight embrace. For a moment they just stood there, barely inside the room, clinging to each other, Padme hiding her face in Anakin’s neck and Anakin pressing a kiss to her hair.

Anakin knew he’d given her cause for concern. Five days had passed since he’d touched down on Coruscant - just him and a single-person fighter, no troops or command ships - and this was the first time he’d communicated with her. Even her carefully discreet holo-messages had gone unanswered, and given their usual pattern of seizing any possible opportunity to see each other, Padme had to have been worried.

“Ani,” she said, pulling back slightly, just enough to run her hands down his shoulders and look into his face. “Are you- Are you all right?”

“I-” He couldn’t say yes. “There’s just been a lot to do. After this last battle.”

The concerned furrow between Padme’s brow didn’t fade, and she led him over to the couch gently, as if she were afraid he might fall on his own. Did he look that bad? It was a good thing he hadn’t come to see her earlier, then.

It wasn’t that Anakin hadn’t _wanted_ to see her. Seeing Padme’s face, hearing her voice, feeling her determined blaze in the Force, made him feel closer to balanced than he had in weeks. It just... hadn’t felt _right_ to come.

They’d been on Jabiim for almost two months. He’d showered again and again since returning to Coruscant, but he could almost still feel the mud caked onto him. The blood, and charred flesh. Trapped on that planet where even the low-hanging sky was their enemy, it was almost impossible to believe he was a luminous being. They were animals, snarling and ripping at each other, killing for survival and leaving the dead behind to be lost in shifting mud and forgotten.

He didn’t...he couldn’t touch Padme with hands that dripped blood and betrayal. Padme, who fought for peace. Padme, who was pure and rock-solid to the core of her soul. Padme, who had never been a monster.

Anakin’s hands were clean as he cupped Padme’s jaw, carefully traced her eyebrows with his thumbs, but they still trembled.

She pressed her hand against his larger one, trapping it against her cheek. “Anakin, what is it?”

There was one thing he had to tell her, Anakin knew. He hadn’t said it out loud yet.

“We... on Jabiim...” He couldn’t do it. “We lost. We lost everything. Everyone.” Almost. Almost, just a single word changed- “ _I_ lost everyone.”

Padme was still looking at him, eyes wide with sorrow and sympathy. “I heard, it was terrible. Unthinkable. Ani, I’m so sorry - I can’t even imagine.”

She was right. She _couldn’t_ imagine, and Anakin was desperately thankful for that. He nodded silently, pressing his lips together and looking away. “Obi-Wan-”

Stepping back a little, Padme clutched his shoulders. He could feel the dread a sudden suspicion had awakened in her heart. “Anakin? Did something - happen?”

He had to say it.

“Didn’t make it back.” He couldn’t look at her. “He’s gone, Padme. He’s _gone_ , and I-” Anakin stood, numb, and couldn’t finish the sentence. What was there to say?

“ _No_ ... Oh, _Anakin_.” The wash of grief that filled Padme and the tears that sprang into her eyes surprised Anakin, but the way she gathered him tightly into her arms didn’t. She and Obi-Wan had been friends too, after a fashion.

Anakin let himself melt into her, holding onto Padme like she was the only thing keeping him upright. He felt her silent tears against his neck, and finally the tight stranglehold he’d kept on his pain all through the battle and its aftermath frayed and snapped. The first wracking sob felt like someone had ripped out a piece of his chest, and more quickly followed. Padme held him, cried with him, until Anakin was wrung out and numb.

 

XXX

 

Anakin sat on the bed. His bed, he thought, only it wasn’t.

It was a padawan bed, in a padawan room identical to the one he’d slept in since Obi-Wan had brought him to the Temple from Naboo. “This was my room,” Obi-Wan had said, managing to smile. “Now it’s yours.” Jedi did not possess anything, and this room was the same as his own. The same walls, desk, bed, and carpeting. The only thing that it lacked was Anakin’s imprint left in the Force from years of living, sleeping, studying, and feeling there, and Obi-Wan’s from the many years before that.

Whoever had lived here before, he didn’t know, but their soft resonance was all-pervading in the Force. The unfamiliarity of it made the room around him, identical as it was to his own, seem surreally stange.

Jedi possessed nothing, but the Force was always their ally. The Force could never be taken away. That’s what Obi-Wan would tell him, if he were here.

Anakin squeezed his eyes shut. As a comfort it felt like nothing, like worse than nothing, but for his master he would try to believe it was enough. For Obi-Wan, he would _try_.

“Padawan?”

Anakin’s eyes flew open - he jumped to stand. “Master Mundi.”

Ki-Adi Mundi brought with him a brisk calm, the same cool peace that permeated every room in these quarters, but it did not soothe Anakin’s startled shame. Master Mundi had come looking for him. He was late - how long had he been sitting there?

“No need for alarm, Padawan. The hour at which we are to meditate has not yet arrived.”

Anakin was shielding tightly and they had not yet established a training bond, but Obi-Wan had always told Anakin that no one needed the Force to know what he was thinking when it showed on his face like a holoprojector. He nodded, trying to smile. “I apologize if I am... distracted, Master Mundi.”

Master Mundi inclined his pale head, stepping closer to Anakin and touching his shoulder briefly. “There is no failure here that you need apologize for. I know that you and Master Kenobi shared a deep bond, and its loss is an act of violence to the soul. It is right for you to feel its pain, just as you would from an act of physical violence. Your body would not be working correctly if you were injured and felt nothing, and just so neither would your soul.”

“Master Yoda told me that I shouldn’t mourn. That I should rejoice for... for those who join the Force. That I shouldn’t... m-miss them,” Anakin stammered, swallowing past the lump in his throat.

He’d had this conversation before, with Obi-Wan, and had quoted Master Yoda with bitterness then. Now, he repeated the words almost desperately. If _only_ he could rejoice. If _only_ he could see past the awful, yawning hole that had been ripped into his life, to the hope that all his teachers seemed to think lay beyond it.

When his mother had died in his arms, he had been sure that all the light in the universe had been extinguished with her. Her loss had consumed him, filled his whole being with agony so acute he had thought he would surely die of it; instead, it had been the Tuskens who died. This was different, because his life continued almost as it had before. He might be able to walk through a whole day feeling almost normal, and then suddenly doing something as ordinary as making himself some tea would have choked panic filling his throat and tears blurring his eyes.

How could he live, when he would never again be able to hear Obi-Wan complaining about his taste in tea? When he would never be able to make his tired, exasperated master a cup of tea exactly how he liked it, and see his eyes crinkle, and know he’d just taken the edge off whatever punishment he was about to be sentenced to? How could they expect him to _live_ , much less _rejoice_?

Anakin set his mouth, blinking and trying to breathe evenly. He would not humiliate himself in front of Master Mundi.

“And so you should,” agreed Master Mundi after a minute’s contemplation. “Death is a part of life for all beings, and so is loss. All wounds must heal - if they fester, they will lead to death. But even healed wounds do not leave you unmarked, and,” he said with a slight smile, “Master Yoda did not say you should do it _immediately_.”

“He sounded as though he did.”

“Not to be glib, but you may have noticed that Master Yoda is rather _old_. I’ve found that his perception of time can be rather different than that of those of us with rather shorter lifespans.”

Anakin did smile at that, surprised at the humorous glint in placid Master Mundi’s eyes. “If it’s not time to meditate yet, Master Mundi, did you want me for something else?” he asked.

“Yes, I just wanted to speak with you for a moment. We are to go on together from here, and I want us to understand each other.”

Anakin nodded, frowning. “What about?”

Master Mundi paused for a moment before speaking. Finally, he said, “A padawan’s task is to seek the path to understanding; a master’s task is to clear and light that path. It is a journey they take together - a partnership, if you will. You come to me having already made much of that journey with another’s guidance, and, no matter what follows after, that will always belong to you. To both of you.”

He was looking at Anakin gravely, and Anakin bowed his head in acknowledgement, even though he wasn’t quite sure that he actually understood.

“Master Kenobi was very proud of you, and I know he looked forward to seeing you knighted. I simply wanted to express to you that is my honor to walk with you what little way there is left to go - and I expect that you will wish to honor Master Kenobi by completing building on the good foundation he has laid.”

“Yes, Master Mundi.” He could say that much absolutely truthfully.

“Good. Then I will leave you to yourself until it is time to meditate.”

Anakin gave a short bow and Master Mundi turned to go. Before he reached the door, Anakin remembered something he’d been thinking about yesterday as he worked himself to exhaustion in the training salle. “...Master Mundi?”

Master Mundi turned expectantly, and Anakin hesitated. He probably wouldn’t have said something like this to Obi-Wan, worried more about avoiding the lecture and difficult advice that would follow than he was about the problem itself, but... Anakin swallowed, setting his jaw. If he was going to be a Jedi, he was going to have to get himself there. If he was going to be a Jedi, it was time to start acting like one because he knew he should, and not because Obi-Wan made him.

“I - I’m not just sad,” Anakin admitted. _Sad_ was a meaningless, tiny word that came as close to summing up what he felt as a cacta bush on Tatooine came to being an Alderaanian forest. “I’m angry and - and I’m... ashamed.”

“What of?”

“Myself. I’m angry at myself and - and the Force, I guess, but mostly myself. I didn’t really... I made my master’s life hard, when I didn’t need to. I didn’t listen to him, and I - I was selfish, almost always. I’m sorry and I wish... I wish I would have done better - I wish I could try again, but I can’t, and - and he did so much for me and he was so important to me, but I didn’t show it, and I’m so sorry and I won’t ever get the chance to tell him.” His words were running away with him and the tears were starting again. Anakin clenched his jaw and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, covering them. “And I don’t know what to do.”

Master Mundi was quiet for a minute, and the burn of tears behind his eyelids was all Anakin could feel.

“What do you think Master Kenobi would say to you, if he were here?”

Anakin sniffed, smiling despite himself. “He’d say, ‘You’ll be taking all this back when I wake you up for training tomorrow morning’,” he answered instantly, with a watery laugh. Scrubbing one hand across his eyes, he blinked rapidly and tried to focus on Master Mundi’s slight smile and not the fact that he would never again be awakened by Obi-Wan’s voice and a gentle tug on his padawan braid.

“And after that?”

Probably _who are you, and what have you done with my padawan_ , but Anakin assumed Master Mundi meant for him to skip past all the banter. He pictured Obi-Wan, how he would soften when he was about to be serious, at his most gentle when he was about to be most grave. Anakin took a deep breath.

“What is the difference between self-pity and remorse, Padawan?” said Anakin finally.

“And what is that difference?”

“Self-pity refuses to let go of the past - true remorse changes in the present.”

Master Mundi smiled again. “An adaptation of Master Yarocel’s _Treatise on Suffering_.”

Was it? Anakin had certainly never read it, though it did sound like Obi-Wan’s idea of something interesting. “My master would tell me to accept greater self-knowledge even if it is painful, and keep my mind on the present.” He hoped Obi-Wan might also tell him that he forgave him.

“You have your answer, then?”

Anakin nodded slowly, still thinking. “Yes, Master Mundi.” He knew that the way he couldn’t bring himself to simply call Master Mundi ‘master’, the way he couldn’t speak of Obi-Wan as anything but ‘my master’ was a glaring vestige of still-raw attachment, and he was fine with that. Whatever Master Yoda might think, Master Mundi had said it was all right not to be completely adjusted immediately. Perhaps he would get there eventually. Not today.

“Thank you,” he added suddenly. Master Mundi paused to incline his head and smile, before the soft swish of the door left Anakin alone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- First multi-chapter fic! Please constructively criticize! I'm always happy to hear about anything from grammar errors to plot holes to weird characterization.
> 
> \- Beta read by the lovely, talented, and long-suffering [Eavis](http://archiveofourown.org/users/eavis/pseuds/eavis)
> 
> \- This entire fic came about because I traumatized myself reading horribly angsty amnesia AUs and thought, "These are always so dramatically dark. I want an amnesia AU that's fluffy." So, although this chapter may qualify as angsty, this story as a whole is not going to remain that way.
> 
> \- I have several chapters of this finished already, so I'll probably put up chapter 2 in a couple of days.
> 
> CITATIONS:  
> \- The Jabiim story was featured in the Dark Horse comic series, which was overwritten as canon by TCW, which was then overwritten by Disney, so it's safe to say the timeline is screwed up. If anyone cares, in my version, Jabiim takes place at the beginning of the Clone Wars not too long after Geonosis and before Praesitlyn and Christophsis.


	2. Shatterpoint

Anakin didn’t have anyone to practice with.

It wasn’t exactly an unusual state of being - not in the padawan training salle anyway. “The Den,” it was called: a place for padawans to practice their techniques with each other and spar, away from the critical eyes of the masters. ‘What happens in the Den stays in the Den,’ was the saying. Mostly what happened in the Den for Anakin was that he sparred holo dummies and Mark-H remotes, by himself. Aayla Secura had sparred with him once, he remembered (Djem So, very good) but he’d been twelve and she’d been a senior padawan, and he was pretty sure it was because Obi-Wan and Quinlan wanted him out of the way so they could talk about things they didn’t want him to hear.

Anakin had gotten used to practicing alone. Not many padawans would outright refuse to duel him, but it just wasn’t worth it to have to seek out a reluctant, stiffly polite partner every time. Easier to just fight the holo dummies, and they were usually more of a challenge anyway. It had been a while since he’d had to use the Den, though, and this time he practiced alone for a different reason.

Nobody was avoiding or ignoring him. There was just absolutely nobody around.

Okay, there were a few very young padawans over in the corner, more goofing around than practicing. They were far too intimidated to approach Anakin, though, and too inexperienced to bother sparring with. Even the upper mezzanine balcony was completely deserted. Everybody old enough to be of use in the war was either on assignment at the Temple, in the field with their master, or just kriffing dead.

The padawan pack, for instance. Eight other padawans he’d fought with on Jabiim - all stubborn as banthas, all complete idiots in that clear-eyed Jedi way, and all dead now. They had all lost their masters on that planet, as well. Nineteen Jedi and eight padawans, dead in the mud. He’d be dead too if he hadn’t been leading the evacuation, itself an exercise in travesty.

And what for! What the FORCE had it been for?

Anakin slashed at his holographic opponent as the faceless figure backflipped out of reach. Teeth bared in a snarl and sweat stinging his eyes, Anakin didn’t pause for even second; powerful Djem So strikes allowed the holo’s flashy Ataru style no rest, pouncing on every possible opening and overwhelming its agility. It was only a matter of time. The holo didn’t run out of energy like a real Ataru practitioner eventually would, but aerials were particularly vulnerable to Anakin’s aggressive Form V. He’d already seen three opportunities to strike a winning blow, but he wasn’t done yet.

Relentless, Anakin hammered on the hologram’s nimble defense, cornering it like a hunting nexu until it was trapped without space to maneuver. It had only one choice - get past him and out into the open, somehow - and it attempted a spinning attack, meant to force him to fall back. Movements rushing together in a single heartbeat, Anakin beat the holo’s blow aside and slid inside its guard. One quick flick of his weapon and an easy _sai cha_ strike had sliced through the hologram’s transparent neck.

A flesh and blood opponent or even a droid would have given Anakin the satisfaction of hearing its head fall to the floor. A solid, physical sign of defeat. The death of the dishonorable.

The faceless hologram only flickered from its usual cool blue color to crimson, and offered him a bow, conceding the match before deactivating. It disappeared over the space of a moment, leaving Anakin standing alone in the middle of the salle, out of breath and lit ‘saber dipping towards the mats.

Lined up against the far wall, one of the training droids let out a speculative electronic beep.

Anakin turned his head pointedly and narrowed his eyes. “Keep your opinions to yourself, Eleven.”

The droid swiveled its cylindrical head, visual sensors blinking on and off. Sighing, Anakin powered down his ‘saber and walked back toward the control panel set in the wall. “I know,” he said, “but I have to get better at this, Eleven. If I’m going back into the field, I have to be ready.”

“Skywalker.”

Anakin jumped nearly a foot, looking around at the door and the rest of the room before he remembered to look up. He might have thought Eleven somehow mysteriously gained a human voice and spoke to him, except that he knew that voice far too well.

Sure enough, there was Master Windu leaning on the upper railing, looking down at him with raised eyebrows. “Talking to yourself?”

Sudden noise came from the group of padawans on the other side of the room. They might have gasped, realizing the Master of the Order was in their midst, in this most unlikely of all places. Master Windu clearly cared for their presence about as much as he did for that of the droids, though. They could go back to playing push-feather, or whatever it was they were doing. Anakin wasn’t so lucky.

He shrugged. “Nope. Just TD 1138, here. We’re old friends.”

“I see.”

It was obvious Master Windu was here for a reason. Probably to warn Anakin about the consequences of not listening to Ki-Adi Mundi, and that he should be grateful, and that this was his last chance. The polite thing would have been to run up right away and present himself attentively for whatever Master Windu had to say. Instead, Anakin just waited expectantly. If Master Windu wanted something, he could ask for it.

“Get up here, Skywalker.”

Or he could demand it - that worked too. Anakin sighed, and climbed up to the mezzanine.

It was smaller up there, darker and more enclosed than the wide-open training mats below. When they moved away from the rails, the padawans below weren’t even in their line of sight.

Anakin crossed his arms. “Master?”

Master Windu looked at him for a moment, silent and imposing and the physical representation of everything Anakin resented. Anakin took a second to hate the fact that Master Windu was still taller than him. Since he was already twenty standard years old at this point, it was unlikely he’d ever win that battle. But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

“Ataru?” said Master Windu finally. “If you want to improve, you should try a Form III opponent.”

No kidding. Anakin was perfectly aware that Soresu was more resilient against Djem So than Ataru. For some reason, though, he hadn’t really felt like sparring a Soresu wielder today. In a feat of great strength, Anakin summoned a facial expression that wasn’t pure scorn. “Yeah?”

“Or Form VII,” Master Windu added, like an afterthought. “Do you know what day it is, Skywalker?”

Form VII was Vapaad, and there weren’t any complete combat models for it loaded into the Den’s virtual opponent database. You’d have to go to the masters’ training salle for that, which - not being a knight - Anakin _couldn’t_.

“Centaxday.” At this point, Anakin was just confused. What _was_ this conversation.

“Day after council,” Master Windu agreed. “And I seem to be without my usual sparring partner for the afternoon.”

Oh. Right. Anakin blinked, mouth pressing into a harsh line. What was he supposed to say? ‘I’m sorry?’ He was sorry. His entire being could sometimes be boiled down to the word _sorry_ , but Master Windu’s lack of a partner was the least of his concerns.

“Would you care to join me?”

He couldn’t have heard that right. Anakin stared, but Master Windu was as serious as ever. “I’m not Obi-Wan, Master Windu.”

“I’m very aware of that,” said Master Windu dryly. “But it looks like you need some Djem So training against an actually challenging partner if you want to become a practitioner of the form, and I think you would be a worthwhile opponent. What do you say, Skywalker?”

_I think you would be a worthwhile opponent._

Anakin realized, with gradually dawning shock, that this was a _request_.

Thumbs hooked in his belt, Master Windu was waiting. Three seconds ago, that had been the first good thing Master Windu had said about him not followed by “but” in as many years as Anakin could remember knowing him. It was that, and the novelty of being _asked_ rather than ordered, that had Anakin tilting his head and shrugging one shoulder. “Sure. Here?”

Anakin gestured with his ‘saber hilt down at the training floor below, but Master Windu shook his head. “The sparring arena. More space, less...” He waved a dismissive hand at the Den, indicating something Anakin wasn’t quite sure of. “Leave the padawans to their games.”

That decided, Master Windu turned and strode toward the door that would dump them from the mezzanine out into a First Knowledge Quarter side hallway. Anakin followed, more than slightly dazed and again feeling like a rangy young boy next to Master Windu’s imposing figure.

The sparring arena was the most public practice room in the Temple: huge, multi-staged, and open for use to everyone in the Temple except younglings. It was one of the places you could count on almost always finding a big group of beings - along with the refectories and the Temple training ground - no matter what time of the day or week. Every time Master Windu sparred there, instead of the more private masters’ salle, it turned into an _event_.

Anakin had watched him and Obi-Wan there a few times, cheering for his master even though Master Windu won every time. Usually they had used the masters’ salle for their Centaxday matches, though. When he thought about it, Anakin had figured they did it for the privacy; mostly, he’d just seen it as a convenient period of time when he knew Obi-Wan would be out of the way.

Master Windu had to know they were going to draw a huge audience. Why would he choose that? Maybe he wanted to thrash Anakin publicly, demonstrate how unfit he was to be a Jedi.

“You haven’t practiced Form V long, have you?”

“Huh?” They were in a lift, heading down towards the center of the Temple. Anakin had to work for a second to get his spinning mind to focus on the question he’d been asked. “No, not that long. I started studying it after Geonosis.” After he’d lost his hand, and had to re-learn all kinds of technique with his prosthetic.

“What led you to that decision, in particular?”

He shrugged. “Ataru didn’t work.” Not on Geonosis, not later. “It’s not as suited to the type of combat we face now. And what else am I going to practice? Soresu’s not my thing.” Niman wasn’t worth mentioning. “Makashi?” Anakin made a scoffing noise before he remembered that some other beings besides Dooku were Makashi practitioners - Ki-Adi Mundi, for one.

Master Windu didn’t reprimand him for disrespect, though, not even tacitly. He looked at Anakin sideways, eyebrow raised, and his presence in the Force almost seemed _amused_ before it was obscured again by his shields. “Juyo?”

“Is that an invitation?” snarked Anakin. He knew it wasn’t. _Juyo_ meant _Vapaad_ , and that was Master Windu’s sole purview. “I’m not stupid enough to think you would ever let me study Juyo, even if I wanted to.”

It was almost heady, addressing Master Windu with such deadly honesty. Obi-Wan had never tolerated anything but scrupulous respect in public interactions with other masters, but Obi-Wan wasn’t here now, and Anakin was on his own. Master Windu could do whatever the hells he wanted to do with Anakin. Level any punishment, delay his knighting indefinitely, completely kick him out of the Order - and Anakin knew better than to think anyone else would fight for him.

Under the circumstances, speaking his mind so brazenly felt a little like swaggering up to a ravenous gundark, unarmed, and spitting in its eye.

“You’re right,” said Master Windu, matter-of-fact. “Djem So is a good choice, though. It’s versatile enough to stand you in good stead both in blaster combat and against Force-wielders, and it draws on your strengths. You’ll be formidable, once you master the self-control necessary for such an aggressive form.”

Anakin’s fists were clenched at his sides, and he bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. At that moment, he was more infuriated by Master Windu’s very existence than he could ever remember being. His detachment, his strength, his certainty which brooked no opposition - the way he walked through these halls, talked about these things like he _owned_ them.

“Like the self-control we showed on Jabiim? Or Muunilinst, for that matter? We took fourteen Separatist bases in twenty-one days, Master Windu. There was no _way_ we could sustain those gains, we didn’t have the troops or the equipment, but we did it anyway. Because we were ordered to, because someone at command was in a kriffing _hurry_.” The words piled on top of each other, and no sooner had he spoken one than Anakin had fifteen more primed to fire like flak cannons. “We thought we could conquer an entire planet in thirty days. No idea what we would face, no clue about the terrain, no idea of the enemy’s strength, but by the Force we needed those mines, so what the hell! That doesn’t sound like _self-control_ to me, Master.”

“If you’re unsatisfied with the credibility of the Order, Skywalker, you’re free to seek whatever path you wish.”

“Is that what you want?” Anakin stopped.

They’d reached the wide hallways of the central Temple, but he was past caring who saw. Cold disgust filled him, rooting him to the spot. Was that why Master Windu had sought him out - what this entire encounter had been leading up to?

Master Windu had paused several paces ahead, his shoulders and back a rigid square. When he turned, every step that took him back towards Anakin was heavy. His shields had cracked a little, and everything Anakin could sense from him was like a sharp slap in the face. Lifting his chin, Anakin looked Master Windu in the eyes.

“It’s not _about_ what I want,” he said, with exaggerated slowness.

“Isn’t it? You never wanted me to be trained! You never wanted me to be a Jedi. You’ve distrusted and doubted and hindered and blocked me every step of the way- Don’t you think I know how you feel about me? Don’t you think I _know_ that the only reason I’m still here right now is because of Qui-Gon Jinn, and because of Obi-Wan? And now, because my master is - dead-” Anakin stumbled a little over the word, “you think you can make me disappear? Well guess what, Master Windu. I have problems with the Order, I definitely kriffing do - but I _am_ a Jedi. And if you want me to leave the Order, you’re going to have to throw me out.”

Anakin realized the truth of it as he said it, like the words themselves had unlocked something inside him. He’d thought about leaving the order so often, as a child and a teenager and after he married Padme, and maybe he still would, someday. But he stood under these arching pillars with a lightsaber clipped to his belt and knew, like a sudden revelation, that he wanted this. Anakin wanted to master the Force, master himself, and win this war. Being a Jedi was part of who he was, and he had a duty.

 _Duty_ had been one of Obi-Wan’s favorite words, it seemed like, and Anakin had grown to despise hearing it. He suddenly saw, now, that he’d misunderstood. He’d been thinking of duty as the kind of thing you had to get out of bed and do because you had no choice, because you’d be punished if you didn’t, because Watto wouldn’t let you and your mom eat if you didn’t.

Obi-Wan had meant something a lot closer to _loyalty_.

“You’re right, Skywalker. I never wanted you to be trained,” said Master Windu. “But it doesn’t matter, it never did. I don’t decide who becomes a Jedi and who doesn’t.”

Anakin scoffed. “Coulda fooled me.”

“Let. Me. Speak. Do you know what I can do, Skywalker? That I can see things others can’t?”

Anakin nodded. Shatterpoints. Everyone knew that Master Windu had the rare ability to sense fault lines in the Force, confluences of significance or of weakness. Nobody had ever been able to adequately explain to him how it worked.

Master Windu’s voice was low and curt, and Anakin would have been a fool to miss the danger behind it. “That makes it very hard for me to look at you, without thinking that you’re a bomb. I see you and I’m thinking, this is my home, these Jedi are my family, and you’re a thermal detonator sitting pretty, right smack in the center of everything.”

“Why?” cried Anakin, sounding far too distraught. A voice, Obi-Wan’s clipped accent saying, _The boy is dangerous._ He’d been a child! What could he have done to deserve this, even back then?

“Because you’re about to _shatter_ , Skywalker. You always have been. Here.” Three fingers jabbed, blunt pressure over Anakin’s heart, and then came up to tap at his temple. Anakin swallowed. He could feel the weight of Master Windu’s foreboding like it was his own, and his fingers pressing just at the root of Anakin’s padawan braid. “And right here. Can’t you feel it?”

_All things die, Anakin Skywalker._

He wanted to deny it, demand ‘what the Sith hells are you talking about’ - but he couldn’t. He knew exactly what Master Windu was describing, felt it all the time. Anakin had felt those cracks the day his mother died, felt them when he fought Ventress for the first time in the skies over Muunilinst, felt them break wide open on Jabiim. He’d thought they were hidden, though, even from Obi-Wan in their deepest meditations - his own anxieties, his own imagination, his own nightmares. He never even suspected that Master Windu, of all people, could see them painted over his heart as clear as anything when they passed in the halls.

When Master Windu stepped back, Anakin’s eyes lifted to meet his again. He knew he looked scared. Denying it had never been in the cards. Master Windu could see the admission on his face, but he didn’t look victorious or vindicated. He looked tired.

“Master...” Anakin trailed off, tried again. “I want to be a Jedi, Master Windu. I’m doing my best... I don’t want to hurt anyone. What else can I do?”

The way Master Windu looked at him was strange, resigned and a little amused. “The fact that I voted against accepting you into the Order ten years ago became irrelevant to everyone, including me, ten years ago. My concern since then has been not that _I_ didn’t want you trained, but that _you_ didn’t want you trained.”

“Yes I did,” Anakin tried to argue. Sure, he hadn’t been the best student, and he’d thought about leaving several times, but there were plenty of times that he would have refused, if he’d been offered the chance to walk away.

“ _Obi-Wan_ wanted you trained,” said Master Windu, dry as a bone, “and you wanted Obi-Wan to be your parent. You wanted him to be attached to you, to be proud of you. And he was. But, outside of that, you acted like a child being dragged around against your will and under protest. That’s not the way to train a Jedi.

“If you had been raised in the creche, you would have had until the time you took the Initiate Trials to decide whether the Jedi path was one you wanted to follow. Not everyone is meant to be a Jedi - plenty of initiates choose a different life, every year - but you had that choice made for you, and I haven’t seen you make peace with it yet. You can’t commit yourself to the Order reluctantly, halfheartedly, _under protest_.”

“I know that.” Anakin’s ears burned. In the back of his mind, he thought it was probably going to take a while to recover from being slapped upside the head with the realization that Master Windu saw straight through him, all the way down to his bones, after a lifetime of thinking Master Windu was the most unfairly biased master on the Council.

“Good.” Master Windu spread his hands. “You said it yourself. You have been trained. Senior Padawan Learner Anakin Skywalker. You’ll be Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker in a matter of weeks if everything goes to plan. You _are_ a Jedi. If that’s what you want, there are ways to control this. Not every shatterpoint has to shatter. But this is the part where you have to decide: what _do_ you want, Skywalker?”

“I want...” Shaking his head, Anakin thought hard. He wanted to be a Jedi, to spend his life helping people, but sometimes... the _Order_. He couldn’t shake the memories of all the times he’d been told that he couldn’t do anything for some beings, that political or economic pressures prevented them, or that it was impossible. “I want to know,” he said, fighting to express himself. “I want to know that- That we’re doing _good_.”

Master Windu’s mouth compressed slightly on one side, in a way that was almost the suggestion of a smile. “Is that what you want? To do good?”

“Yes.”

“There are many ways to do good in the galaxy, Padawan. Do you want to do it with the Jedi Order?”

So kriffing persistent. “Yes, Master Windu. I do.” Anakin didn’t have to think about his answer. “I just. The way we only intervene to help people when it’s politically necessary... How many times has the Order let some disastrous crisis happen on a backwater planet without so much as noticing, but intervened with all our skill to save some trade treaty that helps no one but a corporate conglomerate, because the Senate requested it? On Jabiim, we _betrayed_ the native loyalists who had made our invasion possible in the first place. _I_ left them there, to be executed by the Seps, because I had to get our clones out and there wasn’t room.

“And I know it’s impossible to save everybody. But that didn’t have to happen, Master Windu. It didn’t have to happen that way. I am a Jedi - I just want to _know._.. to know that we’re doing as much good as we _can_.” Waving a dismissive hand, Anakin added, “Not as much good as is _politically convenient_.”

Master Windu’s level gaze evaluated him silently, and time stretched. Anakin could see each consideration as he thought. Face as impassive as ever, it was Master Windu’s eyes that gave it away - surprise, satisfaction, interest, concern. Anakin stood straight-backed and tall under his judgment.

At last, Master Windu said slowly, “Well, then. Welcome to the Jedi Order, Padawan Skywalker.”

Anakin blinked, taken aback when Master Windu bowed to him. A little wrong-footed, he hurried to return the gesture, and only noticed afterward that they had exchanged bows as equals, not as Council Master and padawan.

“Now that that’s out of the way...” Quirking an eyebrow, Master Windu turned slightly, as if wondering whether Anakin were still planning on training. Truthfully, Anakin had almost forgotten why they were even there, but he quickly moved to catch up to Master Windu. He felt as if everything he’d always known had turned itself inside-out in the middle of this random hall on the way to the Sparring Arena.

“You’re right, incidentally,” Master Windu said as they walked. “Earlier, when you said we haven’t been waging the war with self-control.”

“I’m always happy to hear about how I’m right.”

“Do you ever not interrupt?”

“I’ve been reliably informed that the answer to that question is no,” said Anakin, automatically. Obi-Wan would have said, _Whoever informed you of that must be as discerning as they are wise_ , because, of course, it had been him.

Anakin still wasn’t used to the invisible kick to the chest he got when he remembered, suddenly, that he wasn’t talking to his master, and he never would again.

Master Windu just shook his head. “I’m stepping down as Master of the Order.”

“What?!”

“So I can take a more active role in the war,” he said, looking at Anakin sideways.

His shock was undignified, Anakin knew, but actually _what?_ Master Windu had chaired the High Council since Anakin could remember.

“The time in which I served the Order best from a Council seat is past. This entire war is a departure from Jedi principles and, though while the Sith lead the Separatists we have no choice but to fight, I sense that there is great danger in taking this course. We need to be incredibly careful, and we have not been.”

“So, who’s taking over? Master Yoda?”

“Probably. The vote will be held tomorrow. Shortly after, I will be heading to Haruun Kal.”

They had reached the Sparring Arena, and Master Windu paused near the door, frowning. Anakin waited as well, unsure why he was being told all this.

“Is Master Billaba still missing?” he asked. That could be the only reason for another mission to Haruun Kal.

“Yes, she is.” Master Windu frowned, whatever he was thinking about directed inwardly. “When I go, I plan to leave Systems Army Alpha under the temporary command of you and Ki-Adi. You’ll be sent to Praesitlyn; clone intelligence has picked up whispers of the ICC there being targeted by the Separatists, and Sluis Van may need your reinforcements.”

 _You and Ki-Adi_ was a very interesting way to phrase that, Anakin thought, but his musings were blown out of the water by the next thing Master Windu said.

“When I return, if all goes well, you’ll be knighted and given your own command.”

Anakin’s mouth dropped open. He hadn’t missed when Master Windu alluded to him being knighted, earlier, but he’d thought it was just a placating notion for some time in the future - not that Master Windu actually had a specific timetable worked out! If Obi-Wan had given him this news, he’d have probably made an impatient gesture and said ‘It’s about time!’ Ferus Olin had been knighted years ago, after all.

Now measuring himself against Ferus Olin sounded ludicrous, even inside his own head, and all he could think of was that somebody besides Obi-Wan was going to have to cut off his padawan braid.

“Think you can handle that, Skywalker?” Master Windu was watching him, gaze sharp.

What was he supposed to say? The irrational thought that this might all still be some kind of setup to watch Anakin fail streaked through his mind like an errant comet. For a minute, he thought about what might be the humble thing to reply. Then he shrugged.

“Absolutely, Master.”

Master Windu smiled. Frankly, it was terrifying. “I don’t want to see you fail, Skywalker.” How had he known what Anakin was thinking? He palmed the entry key, and the doors to the Sparring Arena hissed open. “Except on the mats, of course, where you most definitely will.”

Anakin bristled, but it was the pure anticipation of a challenge, the rising excitement of testing himself against long odds. “We’ll see about that,” he said, and followed Master Windu into the room without fear.

 

xxx

 

Not many days later, Anakin and Master Mundi were leaving the Coruscant cruiser staging area as the last warm light of the evening faded. The tallest city skyscrapers had already blotted most of it from view, but there was still a faint glow that lined everything with gold. It would last until Coruscant’s sun set fully, and the city lights overpowered the sky instead.

“The crews are on schedule to have everything ready for tomorrow’s departure, General,” Clone Commander Bacara was saying. “Although I still think we’re carrying too much dead weight. The Nova Corps’ tactical use comes from its flexibility and maneuverability. Traveling with a full Sector Army-”

“You may be right, Commander,” answered Master Mundi, “but until we discover the situation on Praesitlyn we cannot say with certainty what capabilities we will need.”

They had been over this already. A lot. Bacara wasn’t really pleased with attaching his unit to the hierarchy of a larger force not under his command, that much was clear. Anakin could tell from the Force that Master Mundi found him somewhat frustrating, despite the always-pleasant exterior he presented. Honestly, he reminded Anakin of Alpha, the hard-nosed, back-talking ARC trooper who’d led his and Obi-Wan’s clone forces until he, too, was killed on Jabiim.

Only listening with half an ear - which was probably more than Master Mundi was listening with at this point - Anakin paused on the accessway that led from the staging area to the attached military base. Down the other concourse, Master Windu stood looking out over the busy shipyard, hands tucked in the wide sleeves of his cloak and a familiar expression on his serious face that Anakin couldn’t quite name.

“Hey, Master Ki-Adi,” interrupted Anakin. “What’s Master Windu doing here?”

Master Mundi paused as well, looking in the direction Anakin’s pointing finger indicated. “Ah, waiting for his transport to Haruun Kal, I should imagine.”

 _Oh, right,_ Anakin remembered. And just like that, he knew exactly what Master Windu’s expression meant.

“I’ll be right back!”

He ran the length of the accessway easily. Master Windu undoubtedly sensed and heard him coming the whole time, but he only looked over once Anakin had clattered to a stop beside him.

“Skywalker.” He took in Anakin’s entire being with a cursory glance, and then turned back to surveying the staging area. “I take it you and Master Mundi anticipate a successful launch?”

“Yep,” said Anakin. “Complaints and a few mild catastrophes aside. When are you leaving?”

“Any minute now. You?”

“Tomorrow morning. Early.” A nod was the only answer, and that uneasy, weighted look had settled back onto Master Windu’s face. “I know what you’re thinking.”

That got Master Windu’s attention, even if his eyebrows were very skeptical. “Oh?” he said, deadpan, like he wasn’t even sure he wanted Anakin to enlighten him.

“Don’t worry, Master. She’ll be fine,” said Anakin, and watched Master Windu’s face shut down.

Wincing, Anakin was almost afraid he’d gone too far, but nothing snapped back at him in the Force. After a moment, Master Windu said, “And how would you know that.”

Because Depa Billaba was a fearsome Jedi Master in her own right, a member of the Jedi Council, and one of only two expert Vapaad practitioners besides Master Windu himself. But Master Windu was already well aware of all that, and Anakin knew from personal experience that the ‘I’m worried about my stupid padawan’ malady would never respond to logic, anyway. Instead, he just smiled brightly and said, “Because _you_ trained her.”

Master Windu just looked at Anakin for a minute, as if he couldn’t figure out for the life of him what kind of strange creature Anakin was.

When a ship landed just below them, both stepped back and shielded their faces from the blowback air. It was a midsize cargo transport, just the thing for getting out of the Core Worlds without much notice, and its 187th Legion clone escort marked it unmistakably as Master Windu’s ride. Anakin crossed his arms, moving out of the way.

He stepped down towards the ramp, but then looked back at Anakin. “Be careful on Praesitlyn, Skywalker. I don’t wish to outlive Qui-Gon’s entire lineage.”

Nodding, Anakin cycled through reflex Obi-Wan responses, from ‘no promises’ to ‘pot, kettle, black’, finally settling on, “I will if you will, Master.”

Master Windu apparently decided that was satisfactory. “May the Force be with you.”

“May the Force be with you,” Anakin answered with Master Mundi, who had come up to stand beside him.

Master Windu strode to his transport and did not look back.

“You know, Master Ki-Adi,” Anakin commented over his shoulder, “I’ve recently realized I have very little clue what’s actually going on.”

Master Mundi smiled. “Hm. Some would say that realization marks the beginning of wisdom.”

They watched as Master Windu’s ship lifted up off the ground, hovering slightly for a moment and then shooting away. Anakin lost sight of it against the sunset glare leaking between the towers on the horizon, and then it was gone. For a second they stood, facing the darkening staging area and the glittering city beyond, and then they turned back to their own work.

Tomorrow, they would do the same thing and, if Anakin survived to return, he would be a Jedi Knight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- UH. This is not. What I had planned.
> 
> \- This is much longer than I had planned. Sorry. Hope it's ok. (hides)
> 
> \- Even Unrealistically Well-Adjusted Anakin Skywalker has some issues to work out, okay?
> 
> CITATIONS:  
> \- "All things die, Anakin Skywalker," is from that masterpiece of angst, the "Revenge of the Sith" novelization by Matthew Stover.
> 
> \- Depa Billaba's misadventures on Haruun Kal are covered in the (no-longer-canon) novel "Shatterpoint," also by Matthew Stover, and the (canon) "Kanan: The Last Padawan" comic series. 
> 
> \- The battles of Praesitlyn and Muunilinst are now no longer canon. As you can tell, I don't care. The Battle of Muunilinst is from the 2003-2005 animated Clone Wars TV show, the one with the really weird art. Praesitlyn is in the book "Jedi Trial" by David Sherman and Dan Cragg. In ex-canon, Anakin didn't actually go to Praesitlyn with Ki-Adi Mundi; in the book he went with a Jedi named Nejaa Halcyon.
> 
> \- Sources are mixed on what form Ki-Adi Mundi actually practiced. Makashi or Soresu were the two most likely.


	3. Incidental Manhunt

**Approximately One Year and Three Standard Months Later**

* * *

 

“Coric, you and Jesse cut to the right.”

“Yes, sir. Got anything more specific for us than ‘right’?”

Anakin squinted in concentration under the hood that shadowed his face. Lounging against a wall and chewing thoughtfully on a strip of dried nerf meat, he hoped he looked like nothing more than a bored market-goer, perhaps a tired husband waiting for his wife to finish her shopping. Not that he knew what that was like - Padme’s style of shopping was goal-oriented and always efficient.

“Thirty degrees.”

Anakin tracked the movements of the clones’ distinctive white armor out of the corner of his eye as he watched the market. The crowd parted in front of them as Coric and Jesse tweaked the trajectory of their measured patrol according to Anakin’s instructions. Some beings looked at the passing clones with irritation, most with interest, but the Republic’s presence on Centares had been constant since the planet had been retaken from the Separatists early on in the war. Almost none reacted with fear, which _should_ in theory be making his search easier, Anakin thought.

Narrowing his eyes even further, Anakin extended his awareness, scanning for the distinct tang of guilt and fear plaguing a former councilor of the Centares Military Council. The man wasn’t difficult to spot in the Force - that was how Anakin had identified him as the Separatist informant in the first place - but the sheer _volume_ of beings in this multi-level marketplace was posing an obstacle.

Anakin turned his head sharply, sensing a spike of something familiar in the Force. “Tup, near you. The green coat, brown hood.”

The clones were instantly on the move, a burst of action at the edges of the market. Tup lunged for their fugitive, but Anakin had already turned away. The Force was pulling at him, and Anakin made the jump to the uneven, sloped roof of the building behind him in seconds. The shopkeeper whose vegetable booth he’d used as a leg up fussed loudly, but Anakin was already running, circumnavigating the marketplace from rooftop to rooftop.

There was a chase in progress below, shouts floating up to Anakin from various quarters. He kept one ear on the clones’ comm chatter, but his main focus was elsewhere. There was somewhere up ahead, a place the wordless shout of the Force told him he needed to be.

“We’ve lost the general.”

That was Rex’s voice on the comm. The chase had turned left, the Sep spy leaving the fresh food area of the market and ducking through one of the narrow alleys that led to another part. This whole place was enormous; subdivided into individual circular open areas where people sold their wares, each market circle connected to four others through alleys that punctured each one like the spokes on a wheel. The market was a maze in which one nondescript human male could easily find a place to disappear.

Unfortunately for him, he had Jedi after him.

“I’m with you, Rex,” Anakin said into his comm as he leaped over the alleyway, turning left to follow the curves of the roof to the next market circle. Rex didn’t bother wasting time asking for clarification, and Anakin wasn’t listening anyway. “Cut him off! Lead him east.” He put on a burst of speed, clearing the next alleyway without breaking his stride, and turned to follow its path straight ahead.

“Copy, General.”

The clones had already been spreading out, racing to flank the fleeing man. Anakin could feel his terror, honed in on it like a hunting nexu, and did not slow even as he oustripped the clones, outstripped the target, and raced on to the next market circle.

“Lost visual on the target.”

“I haven’t,” grunted Anakin. “Keep going.”

Finally, he paused, boots sliding on the domed roof as he stopped abruptly above the narrow gap that dropped down into the next alleyway. Turning back, he watched as the clones’ high-speed search disturbed the market circle like a stone dropped into a pond, sending ripples out in every direction. One particular ripple was heading Anakin’s way at a rushed pace, having found the other three alleyways blocked by searching clones.

As the man ran into the alley below him, Anakin let himself drop. He landed hard on the unevenly cobbled street, ‘saber ignited and humming in his hand. The other people in the alley scattered and fled immediately, but when the Sep spy turned to run as well, he found his way blocked by Rex and Fives.

“Well, this was fun,” Anakin said. “But it’s over now.”

The man was trapped. He’d lost his hood somewhere in the chase, and now stood with clear panic in his eyes, hair matted to his head with sweat and chest heaving to catch his breath. Rex moved to grab and restrain him, but the man jerked away. He charged at Anakin like he was going to try to overpower him with his bare hands.

What was he trying to do - earn a quick and painless death by lightsaber? Instead, Anakin punched him in the face.

It had been a left-handed punch, so the man was still conscious, although his nose was almost certainly broken. He was easily scraped up and restrained with magnacuffs.

“Back to the Rotunda. It’s time to find out what this scum has fed to the Separatists,” Rex ordered.

Anakin had powered his ‘saber down, all set to agree, but then hesitated. He cocked his head slightly, reaching into the Force and finding nothing but an unexplained emphatic negative. They had captured their spy, so why was the Force still urgently prompting him? It wasn’t danger. He had more than enough experience with the Force’s sudden warnings, and even vague premonitions of danger ahead, to know that.

“General?”

“You head back. Deliver this guy to Master Plo - he’s _more_ than competent to interrogate him.” Anakin walked with Rex back to the last market square. “I’ve got some unfinished business here.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rex didn’t question him. Anakin had known he wouldn’t, which just left him with the problem of figuring out what in the galaxy he was actually doing here.

This market circle seemed mostly devoted to second-hand electronics, each booth stacked up its sides with bulky old comm receivers and amplifiers, or strewn with smaller pieces on top. At least he hadn’t ended up in the carpeting section of the market or something, Anakin thought. After the ruckus in the alley, there was no hope of going unnoticed here; he nodded respectfully at every shopkeeper he passed, setting them at ease that his presence meant no further disruption of business today.

After several minutes, almost everyone had lost interest and gone back to their business. Fewer eyes tracked his every move. Except...

Anakin spun around, searching the crowd. He’d felt something - no, someone - staring at him with more intensity than just the detached curiosity and wariness of the market-goers.

With the easy certainty of the Force, he made his gradual way around the market, stopping to look at whatever he thought was interesting. He felt the heat of that same gaze on the back of his neck several times again. Oddly, whoever it was seemed strangely elusive in the Force. Anakin wasn’t particularly concerned, still sensing no danger. He thought he might even buy some cheap power cells for R2 from the booth he was at right now.

Sensing that pointed attention on him again, Anakin turned slightly to glance over his shoulder and found himself looking across three booths and into curious, familiar eyes.

He dropped the power cells. He stopped breathing. For all he knew, the whole planet had stopped spinning.

Dimly, Anakin was aware of the shopkeeper complaining about the power cells, but he didn’t have attention to spare for that when he wasn’t even certain if his heart was still beating. The man’s eyes widened when Anakin looked at him, and he quickly turned, shrugging a satchel over his shoulder and walking away.

It was a long second before Anakin regained enough presence of mind to sprint after him.

“Hey! _Hey_!”

Breathless even though he’d run only about ten paces, Anakin couldn’t stop his mouth from falling open when the man turned. He stopped short, only barely avoiding running smack into him. “Fierfek,” he whispered. _“Obi-Wan?”_

It was true. He stared at Obi-Wan, drank him in and didn’t dare to blink, waiting for what he was seeing to somehow make sense. But it was _true_. Obi-Wan’s hair was cut short and fell in bangs over his forehead, he was clean-shaven and he wore civilian clothes, but it would have taken a lot more than that to keep Anakin from recognizing him. His eyes, the mole on his cheek, the way he rubbed his chin as he stepped back a pace...

It was like a trip back in time, and Anakin found himself thinking absurdly of the day he’d first met Obi-Wan on the deck of a J-type Nubian in the middle of the Dune Sea.

“Do you... _know_ me?”

Hearing his voice was like a kick to Anakin’s chest, oh _Force_. But the words made no sense.

“Yeah, I know you! Obi-Wan, it’s _me_. I don’t look _that_ different, do I?”

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know.” A wry smile pressed at the corner of Obi-Wan’s mouth. “I don’t remember.”

“You don’t rem- what do you mean?”

He shrugged slightly, tugging at the strap of the satchel on his shoulder. A self-conscious gesture, Anakin thought, but Obi-Wan held his gaze evenly. “I don’t remember _anything_ before... I suppose it’s over a standard year and a half ago, now.”

Anakin gaped. “N-nothing?” It made a kind of horrible sense, explained why Obi-Wan was here, alive, and yet nobody had known.

“Not even my name.” He hesitated before asking, “You said... Obi-Wan?”

“Yeah. That’s you. Obi-Wan Kenobi.” This was probably the most surreal thing Anakin had ever experienced, and that was saying something. He reached out in the Force, needing to feel his master, confirm he was real somehow, but ran up against the same barrier he’d felt initially. Anakin frowned, pushing a little against Obi-Wan’s shields. “Why are you hiding?”

“Excuse me?”

The confusion on Obi-Wan’s face was sincere, even if Anakin could only feel the barest hint of him in the Force. Was it possible Obi-Wan could have forgotten _the Force_? He shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Would it be odd if I asked your name?”

“Very odd. I’m Anakin Skywalker.”

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan smiled at him, eyes never leaving his face. “Pleased to meet you?”

_You’re a Jedi, too? Pleased to meet you._

Anakin had to choke down a slightly hysterical laugh. “Yeah, you too. I-” Anakin caught himself in the middle of reaching for his master. Pulling his hand back abruptly, he crossed his arms. “Holy kriff. What _happened_? How long have you been on Centares? Are you _okay_? I mean - aside from the, uh, amnesia or whatever?”

“I’ve been here for most of what I can remember. Look-” Obi-Wan held up a hand when he saw Anakin open his mouth again. “You clearly have questions, and I assure you I have more than you. Are you - Do you want to come back to my house? This might be a long conversation.”

Somehow the idea of Obi-Wan having a _house_ came as a shock. “Sure, yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Do you-”

“Are you-”

They looked at each other, smiling suddenly at the absurdity.

“Do you have a speeder?” Obi-Wan asked.

Anakin’s smile widened into a grin. “A speeder bike.”

“Good - I live in the Skrell District.”

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s not very close, I’m afraid. Do you know where the main gate of the market district is?”

“Yes.”

“Meet me there, and you can follow me.”

Anakin hesitated. Obi-Wan had been about to turn, but then paused and regarded him curiously. “Is there a problem?”

Ducking his head, Anakin admitted, “I - you won’t just - disappear again, if I take my eyes off you? I thought -” His voice caught, and Anakin cleared his throat. Obi-Wan didn’t even _know_ him. “I thought you were _dead_.”

“I’ll be there.” Obi-Wan put his hand on Anakin’s arm, a smile clear in his voice, and Anakin had to look up. “I’ve lived a whole life, and lost it. You think I’m not eager to get it back? You’re the first person I’ve met who knows me - I don’t want to lose you, either.”

Anakin only nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He sprinted all the way back to his speeder bike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Short chapter! I can't figure out how to make the divisions work out better, so I'm just gonna post two at once today.
> 
> \- WE'RE FINALLY HERE... Obi-Wan!
> 
> CITATIONS:  
> \- None! How shocking.


	4. Tea And Discoveries

The outer circle of Muracie, the capital city of Centares, was subdivided into orderly blocks set on either side of streets paved with smooth duracrete. It was a sharp contrast to the more organic sprawl and winding roads of the inner part of the city near the Rotunda where Anakin had spent time before. It was possible he’d encountered the Skrell District during the Battle of Centares when he, newly-knighted and freshly assigned to the leadership of the 501st Legion, had helped Master Shaak Ti retake the planet from the Separatists, but at the time he hadn’t really had the time for sightseeing.

Now, he parked his bike next to Obi-Wan’s speeder in what seemed to be a designated spot, and looked around carefully as he followed Obi-Wan up the steps to the door of a tall, square building. It was all white on the outside, with semi-transparisteel taking the place of luxurious and easily-damaged glass for windows.

“Is this where you live? It’s huge.” Half a city block huge. It was nothing compared to the Jedi Temple of course, but compared to a typical master and padawan suite like the one they’d shared it was enormous.

Obi-Wan laughed. “Not all of it is mine. The building is divided into many smaller apartments - I just live in one of them.”

“Oh.” The rooms Obi-Wan led him into were indeed much smaller than he’d expected given the outside. Maybe the size of a master-padawan suite. Probably a little bigger, Anakin guessed, giving the place a cursory probing in the Force. Several other presences lingered distinctly around the apartment, so Obi-Wan wasn’t totally alone, but over everything Obi-Wan’s presence was discernible in a clear, warm imprint. “Very home-like,” he decided.

That earned him a raised eyebrow. “I need to set all this stuff down.” Obi-Wan gestured at his satchel and the beat-up box he’d carried in from his speeder. “I’ll just be a minute, and then I’ll make you some tea, shall I? Or caff, if that’s to your taste?” His voice floated back to Anakin as he disappeared into a back room.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll make the tea!” Anakin called back, gravitating to the kitchen.

It was tiny, but Anakin had to smile at its meticulous cleanliness. He found the jar of tea leaves with ease, since it was out on the counter already, and everything else with only slightly less ease. Apparently, even if Obi-Wan didn’t remember their quarters in the Temple, he had still kept all the organizational habits he always had.

He’d forgotten how _warm_ Obi-Wan was. Master Ki-Adi’s Force presence was always calm and cool, like a breeze that makes you shiver and clears your thoughts. In Anakin’s memories, he had always thought of Obi-Wan as calm too, but Obi-Wan felt more like a banked fire that warmed your frozen hands and face and kept away the yawning dark. Maybe he still wasn’t remembering Obi-Wan fully, since he hadn’t been able to really sense Obi-Wan even once yet. His imprint was all over in this apartment, so why was Obi-Wan himself practically Force-opaque?

Anakin frowned down at his two mugs of tea. Something was missing.

“Obi-Wan, do you have any distilled Altunna nectar?”

“No! I have mu’nillan, though,” Obi-Wan called. “Why?”

“Just trust me! Where is it?”

“Third cupboard on the bottom!”

Obi-Wan emerged from the back just as Anakin was putting the nectar bottle away again. He’d shed his coat and over-tunic and wore a short-sleeved shirt instead; Anakin suspected it was a beat-up work shirt, judging by the streaks of what looked like faded grease stains and the comfortable way it clung to him. Anakin stared at him, knowing it was rude, he couldn’t feel him in the Force and he couldn’t help it.

He seemed thinner than Anakin remembered, on the edge of too thin, but Anakin couldn’t be totally positive. It had been more than a year since he’d last seen Obi-Wan, and he was terrified at how much he’d forgotten to remember. The memories of Obi-Wan he did have he had treasured so carefully he’d worn them thin and calcified. Now, being able to stand in front of his master - see him alive and whole, and making a face at how long Anakin had stared without saying anything - almost brought him to astonished tears.

Narrowing his eyes at Anakin, Obi-Wan asked, “Do I even want to know what horrible things you’ve been doing to the tea?”

Blinking, Anakin shook his head. “Just trust me, Obi-Wan. If this isn’t the best tea you’ve ever tasted, you can kick me out of the house right now.” He handed one of the mugs across to Obi-Wan, and then thought of something. “Is it okay that I call you Obi-Wan? I mean - should I not? Is it weird? Because I can see how it might be weird, if-”

“It’s fine.”

“So, if you didn’t remember your name, what do you go by around here?”

Cupping his hands around the warm mug, Obi-Wan said, “I go by Alpha. It was the only thing I remembered, from before. I knew it meant something important, but I couldn’t remember why.” He was looking at Anakin again in that same way, curious and even, like he _wanted_ something but didn’t know what.

Alpha. The clone to which Anakin had given that name had died with Obi-Wan in the blast from the same fallen AT-TE tank. And yet, apparently he had not. With everything that time had faded for him, Anakin could still see that explosion in his mind’s eye, feel the stunned horror of it in the pit of his stomach. What had _happened_? He wanted to ask, but he suspected there was a high chance his throat wouldn’t quite cooperate if he tried.

Besides, Obi-Wan was finally taking a sip of his tea, and Anakin didn’t want to interrupt this. He watched carefully over the rim of his own mug.

When Obi-Wan looked up again, his eyes were wide.

“How is it?”

Slowly, Obi-Wan said, “It’s _amazing_.”

Anakin beamed from ear to ear.

“What’s the secret? You put mu’nillan nectar in it? That sounds _bizarre_ , but this tastes incredible.”

“It’s your favorite,” Anakin explained. “I don’t much care for it myself, but I perfected the formula because it’s useful as hells when I need to wheedle you.”

Obi-Wan’s expression looked as though his brain was playing the word _wheedle_ on a looping track in increasingly disdainful tones, but his only answer was to take another drink. They didn’t say anything more for a moment, sipping their tea in a comfortable silence that fell between them as easily as ever. _Easier_ than ever, Anakin thought, remembering the tumultuous last few months of his apprenticeship.

“Why would I forget that?” asked Obi-Wan finally, frowning as the thought occurred to him. “Why would I remember how to make tea in general, but forget my favorite way to doctor it?”

Anakin shrugged. “ _I_ don’t know. Why would you forget your name, but remember which cupboard you like to put all the pots and pans in? That’s a question for the healers.” The way Obi-Wan snorted softly at that made Anakin narrow his eyes. “You _have_ been to the healers?” Of course he shouldn’t have assumed that his stubborn master would go to the healers voluntarily, even for something as significant as _total retrograde amnesia_.

“I don’t know why you’re giving me that look. _Yes_ , I’ve been to the healers.”

“So what did they...” Anakin trailed off as Obi-Wan turned to set his tea down. As he stretched out his arm, Anakin reached out and caught it. _“Master,”_ he breathed, tracing the silvery lines of scarring up Obi-Wan’s arm with two fingertips. There were three of them, even and precise, starting at what looked like a burn-mark in the middle of his palm, stretching the whole length of his arm, and disappearing under his shirt. These couldn’t have come from the explosion; they were far too exact - almost surgical.

Anakin’s breath caught as he followed even further, past Obi-Wan’s shirt and up the line of his neck. Obi-Wan was very still under his hands, allowing Anakin to find the places under his chin where darker scars showed old puncture wounds, and the thin lines that traced both sides of his jaw up until they disappeared under his hair. It was like the outline of something - something that had dug in all around Obi-Wan’s face...

“A mask,” Anakin said absently, and Obi-Wan flinched.

Suddenly, Anakin realized how tightly his left hand was gripping Obi-Wan’s wrist - how his durasteel hand was cupping Obi-Wan’s cheek. He jerked back, almost recoiling, holding his hands up in front of him. “Sorry- I’m sorry-”

“It’s fine,” said Obi-Wan for the second time. He contemplatively thumbed the line of fang-shaped scars under his chin. “There was... a mask.”

Clearly, thinking about it wasn’t very pleasant. “Can... can I ask what happened?”

Obi-Wan was looking at him that way again, like there was something he wanted but didn’t know how to ask for. After a minute, he asked, “How exactly do we know each other?”

So that was a no, then. “We work together.” That explanation was almost comical in its insufficiency. “Live together. I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”

He wracked his brain for something more complete to say. _You raised me? We spent everyday together? We fought together? When I was little, you used to let me sleep with you when I had nightmares?_ How could he explain the all-encompassing knot of need and conflict and history and, well, _attachment_ that bound him to Obi-Wan?

Obi-Wan was frowning at him, and Anakin desperately wished he could reach for his master in the Force to feel what he was thinking.

“Are we friends?”

Blinding relief, as Anakin suddenly discovered the one word he’d been missing. “Family.”

Obi-Wan’s frown faded, leaving behind something softer that Anakin didn’t quite recognize. At last, he said slowly, “There was this... planet. Outer Rim planet - I don’t know it’s name, but it’s the first thing I remember. There was a prison, and a mask, and... more.” He turned his palms over, letting Anakin see the circular burn scars in the middle of each one. “I don’t know why. I don’t even know who did it to me. I just got out - stole a ship, and ran. Of course, I didn’t know where I was running _to_.”

 _Ventress_ , Anakin thought. He’d been captured, and all the time they’d just assumed he’d been killed. Where had Anakin been at the time? On Coruscant, going through the excruciating process of reassignment? Newly knighted, feeling utterly isolated? Christophsis, in over his head with a brand-new padawan and desperate to scrape a victory out of complete disaster? How long had Obi-Wan been held?

“I made it this far before I had a slight physical complication that prevented me from getting any further.”

Anakin had to bite the inside of his cheek. “That means you collapsed.”

A slight one-shouldered shrug was the only acknowledgement of that. “So I ended up forcibly seeing the healers for quite a while. Apparently, I was somehow infected with muscle maggots.” Obi-Wan’s voice was dry and matter-of-fact, but Anakin shuddered.

 _“Somehow,_ ” Anakin repeated incredulously. He had his fists clenched so tightly that his fingernails bit into his palms. The way Obi-Wan told it was plain and unadorned, but Anakin had been by his master’s side through enough horrors that he didn’t need any extra detail. Obi-Wan had been alone in the galaxy, confused and tortured and stripped of even his identity. He’d run and run and run until he physically couldn’t anymore and the wasting weakness of Ventress’s torture had stopped him in his tracks. He’d been _alone_ , and where was Anakin?

“I’m sorry,” he said, tight with anger and misery. “Obi-Wan, I’m so _sorry_.”

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan said his name easily, said his name like he’d always said it, and if Obi-Wan told him ‘It’s fine’ one more time, Anakin was going to scream. “It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know,” he said, like he knew what he was talking about. Like Anakin was the one being ridiculous.

“I should have -” The words choked off.

He should have known. He’d been so wrapped up in himself, in his own journey, his own grief - that he hadn’t even thought to wonder if perhaps Obi-Wan could have survived. He’d seen his master overcome so much, he should have known to look deeper than a single exploding tank.

But that was his own failure, and his guilt was his own. He didn’t need to burden Obi-Wan with it too, especially when Obi-Wan didn’t remember him.

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan reached out to him, touched his shoulder just gently, and Anakin gritted his teeth with the effort of not reaching back. And then - “ _Anakin_ ,” he said again, in his chiding, _who are you trying to fool, my padawan_ , tone. The year that separated Anakin from the lost, orphaned padawan he’d used to be melted away, and resistance was kriffing useless.

Anakin clutched at Obi-Wan, wrapping his master up in an embrace about half as tightly as he wanted to. He held him carefully, meaning to pull back after the quickest of squeezes, but Obi-Wan was returning the hug, arms tight around Anakin’s back. There was no way Anakin was going to pull away, no way he could have. These were the arms that had held him as a terrified little boy, the hands that had covered his own, teaching him to hold a lightsaber for the first time, the body whose wounds he’d carefully tended countless times.

 _Home-like_ , Anakin had said. His earlier words came back to him as he huffed a watery laugh into Obi-Wan’s hair. Right again, Skywalker.

“I should have looked,” he said, hiding his face against Obi-Wan’s neck. He didn’t know how he would have done it, but he knew he should have. “I _missed_ you.”

“I think I missed you too,” Obi-Wan whispered back.

Wordlessly, Anakin tightened his hold briefly before stepping back a little. Obi-Wan’s hands rested on his shoulders, though, keeping him from going very far. “You don’t remember me,” Anakin pointed out with a slightly wobbly smile.

“No, not specifically.” Obi-Wan’s gaze was serious, eyes searching Anakin’s face slowly. Anakin held his breath as one of Obi-Wan’s hands stole up to brush a lock of hair off his forehead, tucking it behind his ear. “But I know that your face makes me happy. Like the answer to a question I didn’t know to ask.” Obi-Wan was _looking_ at him that way again, thoughtfully letting the short curl behind Anakin’s right ear slip between his thumb and forefinger.

Anakin had to close his eyes, squeezing them tightly shut against the irresistible prickling of tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Here we go. :O
> 
> CITATIONS  
> \- Anakin wasn't actually part of the Battle of Centares. Shaak Ti was, though.


	5. The Subjective Meaning of Always

“Kark,” Anakin muttered, pressing the heel of his hand against one eye. The other hand landed on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, as if to anchor himself as he scrubbed at his face. “I’m doing my best not to make this weird for you, but you know you’re not helping much,” he said, voice unsteady.

“Sorry.” Obi-Wan smiled at him.

Anakin laughed. “You don’t sound very sorry.” As he pulled his hand back, meaning to actually step away this time, he noticed something. Anakin ran his thumb over a smooth place where something synthetic and hard was set at the juncture between Obi-Wan’s neck and shoulder. “What’s that?”

“An implant.” Obi-Wan tugged at the neck of his shirt a little, tilting his neck to show Anakin the small square of plastoid embedded at the base of his neck.

“No kidding.” Anakin rolled his eyes. “Neural? What’s it do?”

“It keeps me alive.”

That was as surprising to hear as it was unpleasant. Anakin finally took his hand back, crossing his arms. “You’re not... dying?” he asked, mind racing immediately to the implants chronically or terminally ill beings were often fitted with, to help them manage the pain.

Obi-Wan shook his head. “Nothing like that. It just helps me with some effects of nerve damage. Numbness, trouble with fine motor movements...”

“Seizures?” Anakin guessed.

Obi-Wan shrugged. “Occasionally.”

Another hot wash of anger with Asajj Ventress’s name on it burned through Anakin, but something else prompted him, and wouldn’t quite let him give himself totally over to it. Opening himself to the Force showed him little - only a nonspecific thread of _significance_ wound through the conversation. Pressing again on Obi-Wan’s shields yielded nothing, as it had before. Anakin tried one more time, this time pressing much harder and watching carefully for a reaction.

Obi-Wan didn’t seem to notice anything, and the Force was still whispering at Anakin.

“Would you let me to look at it?”

“Why?”

“I have some skill with healing,” said Anakin. “And... I’d like to make sure, you know, that you’re all right. If you’d let me.”

Obi-Wan frowned at him, quizzical, as if wondering why this particular subject made Anakin hesitant. “The healers at the clinic looked it over when I first came to them, and they found no problem with it.”

“You mean the healers didn’t give it to you?”

“No, I’ve always had it.”

 _Always_ , he said, as if that were a very long time. Anakin paused, trying to think before he spoke, his wariness ratcheted up to extreme levels. If the healers hadn’t given Obi-Wan the implant to regulate the aftereffects of Ventress’s torture... if he’d had the implant before he was ever treated... then who had given it to him? Obi-Wan didn’t seem worried by the obviously occurring question, though, and that in and of itself was a little concerning.

Following the thread of his buzzing suspicion, Anakin tried, “Maybe it has something to do with your memory.”

“It doesn’t.”

He sounded so sure. How could he be so sure? Anakin bit down on the thousand challenging things he could have said, and instead simply asked, “Please?”

Obi-Wan just stared at Anakin for a minute. Then he huffed, shrugged a little and said, “Well, I suppose, in the interests of due diligence... You really must tell me more of what I’ve forgotten, though. Here I am talking so much, and I’m the one who doesn’t know anything.”

If there was a criticism in that somewhere, Anakin supposed it was deserved. “Of course,” he said, making his way to the living room. He sat down, choosing the rug instead of the available sofa, and crossed his legs beneath him before offering Obi-Wan an inviting hand. Giving Anakin a curious look, Obi-Wan nevertheless allowed himself to be guided down into a sitting position on the floor across from Anakin.

“I’ll tell you what I can, but... are you sure you want it all back?”

The question was one that had occurred to Anakin the minute he stepped inside this well-tended little home. As strange as it seemed to ask, Anakin could feel the warm imprints of several other beings who’d been here recently, talked here, laughed here. He thought of his own tiny quarters back aboard the _Resolute_ , and he wondered.

Obi-Wan snorted softly as he tilted his neck again for Anakin’s inquiring hand. “Of _course_. What kind of a question is that?”

“I don’t know.” Anakin traced the indented print of the implant again with his fingers, and then let his hand hover just above Obi-Wan’s skin as he gently probed it with the Force. “You don’t seem... unhappy.”

“Nor might a spider-roach, having no concept of a life larger than its own.”

Anakin’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “You’re not a _roach_ , Master. And I was just asking.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “Tell me why you call me that. You’re not a slave.”

Busy following the paths of the implant’s electronic pulses in the Force, Anakin only spared a slight smirk for the irony. “No, I’m not.”

“You’re military.” Obi-Wan hooked a finger under Anakin’s plastoid armor chest plate. “Am I military?”

“In a way. We fought in the war together, but not as regular officers in the Republic Military. We’re assigned to the GAR, as part of a temporary special commission.”

 _We're Jedi_ , Anakin could have said. He didn't. 

The implant was strange; it was definitely neural, but he sensed a constant stream of input to Obi-Wan’s brain and nervous system. Anakin was no expert, but the volume and direction of its activity seemed inconsistent with how Obi-Wan had described it as a counterbalance to occasional flare-ups of symptoms from his torture.

“So,” insisted Obi-Wan, “why do you call me that? Is it a rank?”

Anakin grinned. “Yes, it’s a rank. I was your apprentice, before you ‘died’.” He pulled back his hand to form false quotes around the word, and then rested his palms on his knees. “You were my master - taught me everything I know.”

Another chance to explain, to say, _Have you heard of the Jedi Order?_

Anakin didn't know why he didn't want to - it wasn't as if it was a secret. Everyone in the galaxy knew that the Jedi were commanding the Republic's side of the war, commanding the clones who made up the bulk of the GAR. He was plainly dressed in his active duty robes, chest and shoulders decked out in plastoid armor, lightsaber at his belt. Anyone who'd seen some holonet coverage of the war in the last year and had a pulse would have instantly marked him as a Jedi. Unless Obi-Wan had forgotten everything about the political structure of the galaxy, too, Anakin couldn't think of any way he could still be in the dark about it.

And yet... for some reason his instincts warned against explicitly spelling it out to Obi-Wan himself.

“Oh.” Obi-Wan was looking at him, reaching up to rub at the implant absently. “Then we’ve known each other a long time.”

“A very long time.” Anakin smiled, and Obi-Wan’s answering smile was strangely shy. “I’d like to bring back an OEI mapper and take another look at that thing, if you don’t mind,” he said. “I really think it might be important for your memory, and if there’s any possibility it’s related-”

Obi-Wan was shaking his head. “You’re mistaken. I told you, it’s just for nerve damage.”

“Still, if there’s _any_ chance of it having something to do with the amnesia, even if it’s incidental, I have to explore it. You said you wanted your memory back.”

“Of course I do. But Anakin, you know as well as I do that retrograde amnesia, if it doesn’t naturally fade over time, is usually permanent and irreversible. It’s been over a year, and I can’t remember a single _thing_ from before.” Obi-Wan’s earnest gaze was as familiar to Anakin as his own lightsaber - it was the same even, calm way Obi-Wan had always delivered hard news he knew Anakin didn’t want to hear. “I really don’t think this is going to help.”

Reaching into the Force, Anakin couldn't agree with his master’s pessimism. “If it doesn’t, we can deal with that. I’m not losing you again, Obi-Wan, no matter what - I don’t care if you never remember a thing. But if there’s even a chance, it makes no sense not to make sure.”

Another sigh lifted Obi-Wan’s shoulders gently before curving them down in a slight slump. “If you insist. Just don’t remove it without asking first. I need that thing.”

“If you even think I would do that, you shouldn’t be letting me anywhere near you.” Anakin bridled, insulted. “I mean - we technically just _met_. I might be lying to you about everything, and you wouldn’t even know.”

“I know you wouldn’t do that, Anakin.” Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.

“Then why did you say it? You shouldn’t let strange men you don’t trust into your house, much less let them fiddle with your important medical equipment. There are plenty of people who know you and also hate you, you know. You should be more careful.”

“Oh, are there? Am I such a disagreeable person, that I have scores of enemies?”

Anakin snorted. “No, I think that would be me, actually. I make the enemies - you just suffer the consequences.”

The pained tone had crept into Anakin’s last sentence without his consent, and he ducked his head. Obi-Wan softened, catching Anakin’s gaze pointedly. “I trust you, Anakin.”

“You have no reason to.”

“Yes I do,” said Obi-Wan, sounding as if he really knew. “I just can’t remember it.”

Anakin huffed a reluctant laugh, digging his hand through his hair roughly. Would Obi-Wan feel that way when he got his memories back? Anakin had been with him on Jabiim - been with him months before that in sullen silence, and been with him _years_ before that in disrespect and rebellion. He had failed Obi-Wan, not just on Jabiim, but before that as a padawan.

“Also, your comm is beeping,” Obi-Wan pointed out.

“Kaaaark.” He’d set it on silent mode. Anakin fumbled it out of his belt and clicked it on. “Skywalker.”

“Skywalker, Captain Rex informs me that you have not reported in after apprehending Consular Reeve. What is your status?”

“Reporting for duty, Master Plo.” _Sithspit_ , Anakin thought. “I thought I had found another lead in the market, but it turned out to be... not relevant to the mission.”

“In that case, return to the Rotunda. Consular Reeve has been most helpful, and it would be wise to act on his information as soon as possible.”

“Yes, Master. Skywalker out.” Obi-Wan watched him with raised eyebrows as he clicked off his comm. “Sithspit.”

“You have to go.”

“I do,” Anakin admitted. “But... I’ll come back tonight? If I can, I mean. I’ll bring the OEI scanner, and I can tell you more, then. If you want.”

They stood up, and Obi-Wan was giving him that hesitant smile again. “I would like that.”

“I’ll definitely come, then. I don’t know what time, but...”

“It’s fine. I have to head to the clinic for a few hours, but anytime after dark I should be here.”

“Okay. Good.” Anakin was nodding. He knew he should be moving for the door, but couldn’t quite look away from Obi-Wan’s face just yet. “You’ll be here? I mean - you won’t-” He knew they’d had this conversation before, but-

“I won’t disappear.” Obi-Wan touched his arm again, like he wanted to do something more but wasn’t sure how. “I”ll be here, Anakin. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Here we go! Are yall ready?
> 
> \- I know this was short, so I might post the next one early in the week instead of waiting until next weekend.
> 
> CITATIONS:  
> \- None!


	6. Contingency Planning

Obi-Wan’s promise turned out to be a broken one.

Anakin reported for duty and discovered that his duty was to search several sets of coordinates provided by Councilor Reeve for Separatist communication outposts and informants. Most were on-planet, but two weren’t, though they were nearby in the same system. It was a pretty basic mop-up job, but Ahsoka was champing at the bit to tackle the assignment after being left out of the manhunt earlier that day.

“Where have you been, Master?” she asked, less to actually hear the answer than to express her displeasure at his absence.

Anakin’s flippant answer of “shopping,” was treated with the respect it deserved.

They knocked over four Separatist outposts in record time. For once in his life, Anakin didn’t have much time for banter or showmanship. While his body was occupied capturing prisoners and confiscating Sep equipment, his mind was on a little apartment on the outskirts of the city.

“What do you think, Master? This guy’s going to do fine in GAR detention, right?” Ahsoka joked, threatening a particularly sullen-looking prisoner with magnacuffs.

“Is it too much to ask for some focus here, Padawan?” he asked for probably the eighth time that day. Taking the cuffs from Ahsoka, Anakin clipped them on their latest prisoner himself. He ordered them back to the Rotunda, ignoring Ahsoka’s subdued silence and distance in the Force.

It had been fully dark for over two hours by the time they reported back, and they still hadn’t even been off-planet yet. Anakin waged a war within himself, submitting his distraction and longing to the demands of his duty with a feat of sheer strength greater than it would have taken him to overpower a legion of physical opponents. Reporting to Master Plo, he expected to immediately turn around and take the fighter squadron out above the planet. Instead, he was granted a surprise reprieve. He almost couldn't contain his relief, but managed to say "yes, sir" to Master Plo, rather than leap two stories into the air and punch the ceiling like he wanted to.

He’d already made it back to the hallway outside their temporarily assigned quarters when Ahsoka caught up with him. “Are we heading out to the other bases, Master?”

He’d stripped out of his armor, OEI scanner secured in a pouch on his belt, and changed into the full array of dark-brown-and-black multilayered Jedi robes that he often didn’t bother with while in the field on active duty. She paused to frown at him, confusion flickering in the Force.

“Nope. Master Plo pushed it back until tomorrow. There’s a chance we’ll catch more if we give them time to get worried - send someone to investigate their planetary people’s radio silence,” he said. “You’re dismissed, until the alert tomorrow morning. I’m heading out. May or may not be back tonight. Try not to have too much fun without me.” Anakin caught at her padawan beads, giving the strand a quick tug.

“Master...”

He hesitated, finally turning to fully face her. “Ahsoka?”

“I - did I do something wrong?” She squared her shoulders, looking up at him with a wince.

“What? No, not that I know of.”

“I know you were disappointed in me out there-”

“Snips...” Anakin rocked back on his heels, biting his lip. He’d assumed Ahsoka was irritated at his preoccupation and lack of patience; apparently her silence had been something else. “I wasn’t disappointed in you, believe me. Look, I shouldn’t have snapped at you. Your performance was solid, and I wouldn’t have been irritated under any other circumstances, I’m sorry. I’m just... a little distracted, right now. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

Ahsoka nodded and ducked her head, her relief a quick rush in the Force. “Can I ask what’s going on? Unless you’re actually out shopping, then I don’t care.”

Anakin laughed. “You’ll find out soon enough, Snips.”

“I can promise to exercise discretion!”

“Can you? How about some _patience_ , instead?” said Anakin, feeling like Obi-Wan as he raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, Master,” Ahsoka sighed.

“‘Night, Snips.”

Anakin probably broke a few traffic regulations on his way through the city, but that was because he was mostly feeling his way back to Obi-Wan’s house on instinct and had to make some last-minute course corrections. When he finally arrived, he slid his speeder bike to idle in front of the building and glared at the spot where Obi-Wan’s speeder should have been. It was empty, and a quick check in the Force revealed that it had been empty for hours. So much for ‘I promise.’

Though he couldn’t deny that finding Obi-Wan absent lodged a knot of unease in his gut, Anakin knew his master, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t half-expected this. Thank the Force for contingency planning, he thought. What could have been something to full-on panic about was instead something temporarily anxiety-inducing.

Led by the guiding hand of his contingency planning to a long, low building several miles away, Anakin strongly suspected that this was “the clinic” Obi-Wan had spoken of. Though the streets outside were dark and mostly deserted, inside the place was warmly colored and brightly lit. It was probably some kind of free or charity clinic, based on the overwhelming atmosphere of steely determination and righteousness. Almost like walking into Padme’s office, Anakin thought.

The guy at the front desk was young and half asleep, but tried to dredge up something like cheerfulness when Anakin walked in. “Hello. What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for a man who goes by the name Alpha. Is he here, by any chance?”

“Who’s asking?”

“Anakin Skywalker.”

“Gimme a sec.” The boy yawned.

 _Patience_ , Anakin thought wryly. It would be helpful if Obi-Wan weren’t strangely suppressed in the Force somehow. He wasn’t used to having to rely on technology and a sleepy boy with a desk intercom to locate his master. As it was, he waited, hands behind his back, with a reasonable facsimile of detached composure until Obi-Wan appeared.

His heart skipped a beat. Holy kriff. Obi-Wan.

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan said, face lighting up. “Sorry, something came up and I got a little sidetracked here.”

“I noticed that. No worries. Are you still busy?”

“I’ve finished everything I’m working on. Just waiting on Irenia, now.”

Who the hells was Irenia, Anakin wondered. He didn’t ask, choosing instead to follow Obi-Wan behind the desk and down a back hallway. “How did you find the place?” asked Obi-Wan, over his shoulder as he pushed open a door and led Anakin through.

“I lojacked your speeder,” said Anakin absently. One wall of the room they’d entered was lined with databanks, and the corner across from them was outfitted with what looked like a universal control panel apparatus. Interesting.

“Ah.” Obi-Wan was frowning to himself. “Should I be surprised? Because I don’t think I am.”

“Nah. What is this place? Server room?”

“And comm center, and security system hub. Soon, it’ll hopefully also have an emergency vehicle response relay.”

“Is this what you work on?”

“Most of the time. I noticed the clinic’s automated security system was very inefficient while they were holding me here for treatment-”

“You-” Anakin took a quick look at the control panels. “You rewrote their alarm programming while you were laid up with a wasting muscle disease?”

“I didn’t completely _rewrite_ it from scratch. That would be quite beyond my skill set. I used a kernel-” He stopped, and narrowed his eyes at Anakin. “You’re just making fun of me, aren’t you.”

“No, I’m not making fun of you,” Anakin laughed. _I just love you a lot_ , were the next words on his tongue, but even if Obi-Wan had all his memories that would be unlikely to go over well. _I just can’t believe I lived without you for a whole year._ Still too much. Finally, Anakin settled on a feeble, “I promise.”

Obi-Wan raised a skeptical eyebrow at him, and another giddy laugh bubbled its way out of Anakin’s chest. How long had it been since he’d seen that expression? Oh Force.

“Don’t worry, I _am_ going to ride you about this as soon as you have the context to understand, though,” he added, then sighed when Obi-Wan’s face fell.

“Anakin...”

“Don’t worry about it, Obi-Wan.” Anakin smiled, delight filling his chest. The lift of Obi-Wan’s eyebrows plus that concerned divot between them - he knew what _that_ meant. “I promise, you don’t need to be concerned that I’m setting myself up for a fall by committing to an outcome that’s not certain. I’m prepared to accept whatev- whatever I’m granted.”

He should have said _whatever the Force grants me_ , but for some reason felt it best not to. Obi-Wan looked faintly bemused, but Anakin just shrugged.

“What? I know you were _concerned_ about my _state of mind_. Are you tired? You look tired.”

“I’m fine.” Obi-Wan crossed his arms. Anakin squinted, suspicious, but in the absence of his ability to sense Obi-Wan in the Force, he couldn’t contradict him with certainty. He did look tired, though. Anakin hadn’t noticed as much earlier, but there were more lines under his eyes than Anakin remembered, and seeing Obi-Wan trapped without the Force, curiously self-contained and small, was still _wrong_.

Cheerfully, Anakin reached to pat his belt pouch. “I brought the OEI mapper.”

“Well don’t use it in _here_.”

Widening his eyes, Anakin said, “Aw, too bad. I was planning on firing it up amid all this tech and completely frying its sensor because I’m an _idiot_... but if you say so...”

“Who’s an idiot?”

They had left the door open, and now a tall woman in a crisply-cut medical tunic stood leaning against the doorframe. Her blonde hair was knotted securely in a braid around her head, and the look in her dark eyes was one of curiosity and concern.

“Irenia!” said Obi-Wan, smiling. “This is Anakin.”

Anakin gave her a short bow and a winning smile, and Irenia came forward to shake his hand. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Anakin.” She smiled, but Anakin could still sense her unwavering concern. “Alpha told me that you know him, from his previous life!”

“I do.”

“That’s wonderful. We thought someone or something familiar might begin to break through the amnesia, but had _no_ idea where to start looking-” Breaking off, she shrugged and gave Obi-Wan an apologetic smile. “Were you searching for him?”

“No. I should have been, but- I- it was actually mostly chance that I happened to be in the right place at the right time.” _Chance_ and _luck_ were not something Jedi believed in, as a general rule. Thinking about how easily he could have missed Obi-Wan entirely had his fugitive’s flight taken a different direction that morning chilled Anakin to the bone; the certainty deep inside him that the Force had led him here, had _meant_ for him to find his master, was a grounding comfort.

“What brings you to Centares?”

“Um, business. I’m with the Republic delegation quartered at the Rotunda.”

“Are you-”

“Irenia,” Obi-Wan interrupted, eyes alight with humor, “if you’ve finished up for the night, we could adjourn to the house. Anakin has already promised to answer all our questions.”

Anakin recalled making no such promise, and couldn’t say he was particularly pleased with how often the words _we_ and _our_ were suddenly being used.

“Oh, right.” She gave Obi-Wan a wry smile. “I’m done. I just need to change.”

“We’ll meet you in the lobby, then.” Obi-Wan’s hand fell easily onto Anakin’s shoulder, warm and strong as he pushed Anakin to follow Irenia out the door. “And you’re _just_ going to change. Not go back into the lab,” he told her sternly.

“One stop at my office, first.”

“Irenia.”

“Just one!”

Obi-Wan looked dubious, but at least he and Anakin made it to the lobby. The boy at the desk perked up when he saw Obi-Wan and cheerfully said, “Evening, Mr. Alpha.”

“Hello, Lesk. What are you still doing here?”

“I’m here until my dad is. He and Doctor Mazaar came in at four and have been here ever since.”

Leaning against the desk briefly, Obi-Wan laughed. “Oh, I am very aware of that - I was called in at the same time. If the fates are at all kind we’ll be leaving soon, so hopefully you will as well.”

“Yes _please_ ,” said Lesk with a tired grin.

Anakin was more than used to standing quietly at his master’s shoulder while Obi-Wan talked - seriously, or ingratiatingly, or casually, to any number of beings - but he wasn’t used to being ignored during the process. Even now, with no Force-bond permanently tying their thoughts together, it only took a minute or two before Obi-Wan was turning and sitting back against the desk; he looked up at Anakin, loose and relaxed, and his eyes were bright and smiling.

“So, how did _your_ business this afternoon turn out?”

“All right.” Anakin tried to bite down on a grin, but only half succeeded. “Fine, for the most part, but we didn’t finish everything. It’ll mean a very early morning tomorrow.”

“We’ll try not to keep you too long tonight, then,” said Obi-Wan. He was tired, Anakin knew, from the lines at the corners of his eyes and the heaviness of his limbs, but he looked... _happy_. Content.

“No worries. I don’t need that much sleep,” said Anakin, shrugging, only to be confronted with Obi-Wan’s most unimpressed eyebrow arch. “I _don’t_.” Obi-Wan had no business taking him to task over _this_ particular point, especially. Only he didn’t remember all the past examples of times he’d pushed himself to the brink of exhausted collapse, so he was tragically immune to retort.

Instead, Anakin tried for disarming. “And besides, this is too important.”

Success. Obi-Wan’s skeptical frown faded into something softer. “Oh, very smooth,” he drawled, and Anakin preened slightly.

“I learned from the best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- We get to meet Ahsoka! For a couple lines at least, anyway. I promise she'll show up a lot more later.
> 
> CITATIONS:  
> \- "LoJack" is a company name, so obviously that doesn't actually exist in the Star Wars universe, but I think its generic enough that I'm using it anyway, sort of like "velcro."


	7. A Crowd

Anakin couldn’t have said he was entirely satisfied with how the travel arrangements turned out, once Irenia reappeared. The one inherent disadvantage of his speeder bike was that it limited him to traveling alone, while Obi-Wan’s speeder could accommodate two.

When Obi-Wan had mentioned her offhandedly, Anakin hadn’t really expected to actually meet this Irenia person - much less for her to be coming back with them to the house, as if her presence were simply assumed. He hadn’t expected her to come out of the clinic with a man who turned out to be Lesk’s father, and for the four of them to carry on a lively, familiar conversation about people and things he didn’t know, with inside jokes he didn’t understand. The other presences he’d sensed in the Force at Obi-Wan’s house suddenly made more sense, and he had to wonder how many other people Obi-Wan knew here. How many other people knew Obi-Wan, and cared about him.

Once the group separated, easy farewells passing between them, they didn’t have too far to go to Obi-Wan’s house. That didn’t make the painfully tight feeling in his chest as he watched Obi-Wan and Irenia get into a speeder together any easier to bear. She was pursing her lips to hide a smile as Obi-Wan mock-frowned in a way that meant he was clearly teasing her, and Anakin _ached_ for what he’d been missing. No, he would have had to say he was far from entirely satisfied. Luckily, no one asked him.

He breathed a little easier when they pulled up in front of the apartments, and Obi-Wan met him on the walk up, holding out his closed hand. “I’ve got a present for you, Anakin,” he said.

“Oh?” Anakin snorted when Obi-Wan dropped a mini homing beacon into his palm. “Thanks, Master. I think I must have misplaced one of these recently.”

“Yes, on the undercarriage of my speeder, I believe.”

“Imagine that.” The homing beacon hadn’t been deactivated, but only reset into its temporary dormant mode, so apparently that was something else Obi-Wan remembered how to do. Anakin would have to get another one back onto that speeder before he left for the night; he had a feeling it might be needed.

As they entered, the lights came on automatically and seemed much brighter than they had earlier. Irenia took off her long coat and hung it over the back of one of the dining chairs. “So, Anakin, you’re with the Republic’s clone army, aren’t you?”

That was one way to put it. “Yeah. I can’t actually talk much about our operations-”

“Oh, don’t worry.” She waved a dismissive hand. “I just ask because, when Alpha originally told me about you, he said you were military and well, I suppose I expected someone... older?”

Anakin had heard that one before. He could tell that Irenia was dubious, but not of him personally; she was probably inwardly burning with indignation at the exploitative system he was a part of, or something like that. Anakin was almost certain it had only taken her two glances at him to decide he was a Jedi, which was fair, since he hadn’t exactly taken pains to hide it.

“Not tall enough for you?” he asked, squaring his shoulders and grinning down at her. “I think I’m pretty much done growing, but I’ll make an extra effort if you think it’s necessary.”

A pointedly arched blonde eyebrow acknowledged Anakin’s deflection, and Obi-Wan was smirking slightly as he made his way toward the kitchen.

“Hold on.” Irenia flung out an arm to intercept him. “Where are you going? What do you want? Tea? Soup? I’ll make it. You’re exhausted - go sit down.”

“I’m perfectly capable of pouring myself _tea_ , thank you.”

“Have you eaten anything all day?” Not waiting for a response, Irenia turned to Anakin and asked, “Have _you_?”

“Uh.” He’d eaten a nutribar this morning. Probably. Finding himself the recipient of two concerned frowns, Anakin sighed. “I could eat something.”

“Good. Do you still have that soup from earlier this week? Of course you do,” said Irenia, answering her own question and pointing them both toward the living area. She stood blocking the way to the kitchen as though she intended to guard it from attack.

“There’s not _much_ left.” Obi-Wan’s tone was defensive. Irenia did not look impressed.

“Plenty enough for the three of us, I’ll wager. Even Anakin, who’s still a growing boy.”

She was teasing, but concern had knocked Anakin too off-beat to respond in kind. He hadn’t missed the way she was implying Obi-Wan didn’t eat regularly enough. Force knew he had tended to forget things like sleep and food under normal circumstances, but without the Force and still plagued by what Ventress had done to him... Obi-Wan couldn’t afford to be as careless with himself.

“Go. I’ll warm some up for us.”

Obi-Wan yawned, moving toward the sofa. “ _Do_ refrain from attempting to actually cook anything, for our guest’s sake if nothing else.”

Being classified as Obi-Wan’s “guest” was probably Anakin’s least favorite thing to happen in the last thirty seconds, but he ignored the way his stomach dropped. The shadow of a worried frown still etched between his eyebrows, Anakin found Irenia watching him watch Obi-Wan. Her mouth smiled, but Anakin could feel her guarded determination lacing the Force. Irenia’s eyes measured him, and he was sure she’d let him know decisively as soon as she came to some sort of conclusion.

He stared back, trying not to hate the fact that he needed her good opinion.

When Obi-Wan sat down, she turned to the kitchen and said over her shoulder, “You should have more faith in me, Alpha. Remember, I kept you alive.”

Obi-Wan hummed affirmatively. “Yes, and I’d rather avoid the poetic symmetry of returning to death’s door at your hand, if it’s all the same.”

“You know me better than to think I would ever waste my hard work like that.” Her voice floated back to them, and Obi-Wan smiled, rolling his eyes.

“Have a seat, Anakin.”

“You sure?”

Anakin flipped open the pouch on his belt, lifted the OEI mapper, and watched Obi-Wan’s face shut down. More than just Obi-Wan’s aversion to medical contexts, Anakin knew even without being able to sense it that Obi-Wan viewed the scanner with real discomfort; it was there in the sudden stillness that seized his posture and in the strain around his eyes.

_Why_ , Anakin had no idea.

Obi-Wan sighed. “Better get it over with, or you’ll never stop hounding me with that thing.”

With an apologetic shrug, Anakin moved to sit beside his master and unraveled the lead from the scanner. “It should only take a minute.”

Obi-Wan didn’t reply, didn’t move when Anakin found the implant again, searching with careful fingers under his collar. He was so motionless that Anakin found himself double-checking that Obi-Wan was still breathing.

The procedure was completely non-invasive; all Anakin had to do was hook a lead from the OEI mapper to a port in the implant and press a single button. Obi-Wan shouldn’t have felt a thing, but his hands still gripped tightly at the couch cushion he sat on, and his body was completely stiff.

“Does it hurt?” Anakin asked, confused. There was no way there should be any physical sensation, much less pain.

Obi-Wan shook his head. “It’s fine.” He didn’t relax.

Without the Force, Obi-Wan couldn’t feel Anakin’s skepticism, but simultaneously Anakin was prevented from reaching out to anchor his master. Or trying to figure out the source of his discomfort, for that matter.

With no idea where this unease was coming from, Anakin wished he could let Obi-Wan off the hook or even just postpone taking the reading until his master was less tired. Obi-Wan was right, though - better to just get it over with. And in the Force... he _knew_ he needed to do this, so he just murmured, “Just another minute, Master, just a couple more seconds...”

Obi-Wan had said he would allow Anakin to do this, and he was as good as his word. The time stretched, seeming much more interminable than the few seconds Anakin watched ticking across the OEI scanner’s viewscreen. The quiet noises of Irenia in the other room kept them company, Obi-Wan enduring until Anakin finally got a full electronic reading from the implant.

“Done!”

As Anakin detached the lead and began to glance through the results readout, Obi-Wan moved to actually sit back against the couch. He let out a long, quiet breath, watching Anakin evenly. “Anything interesting?”

Anakin shrugged, frowning hard at the device’s viewscreen. “Don’t know yet. I’m going to have to look at this in detail, and run some analyses.”

“Mm,” said Obi-Wan, sounding about as flatly indifferent as he would whenever Anakin ranted about the variables of the year’s podracing season.

Looking up, Anakin grinned. “You _are_ tired.” He’d never known the prospect of analyzing a mystery to lose Obi-Wan’s interest.

“Of everyone saying that to me, absolutely.”

Anakin sighed and started the scanner on a preliminary analysis of Obi-Wan’s results before setting it aside. He stretched, leaning back and pulling his legs up to cross them under him. “People only tell you obvious things because you act like you don’t notice them.”

“Oh, is that why?” Obi-Wan yawned. “I thought it was part of your plot to badger me into an early grave.”

That was something Obi-Wan had wryly accused him of thousands of times, surprising and familiar enough to pull a smile out of Anakin. The exchange felt like piloting his Delta-7 with only the stars for company - like returning to Padme’s apartments at last after a long campaign. He knew Obi-Wan meant him to smile, but it twisted slightly as a new shade of meaning for his master’s words occurred to him.

“Been there, done that.”

_You’ll be the death of me_ , Obi-Wan had always teased. Anakin never thought it was funny.

“Don’t start doing that again. We’ve been over this,” said Obi-Wan firmly, looking Anakin in the eye and leaving him blinking in surprise.

“Over what?” asked Irenia, emerging from the other room precariously balancing three small bowls.

Obi-Wan was still frowning. “About Anakin’s strange misconception that what happened to me is somehow his fault.”

“Well that would have been nice to know before I bothered to make him soup.”

“You _made_ the soup?” Obi-Wan accepted the bowl handed to him with such extreme suspicion that Anakin had to wonder what Irenia had done. Had she used a baked good to poison an entire wing of clinic patients?

Irenia rolled her eyes. “Don’t give yourself a seizure, I _warmed up_ the soup. Though it’s still certainly more effort than I would have gone to for the being who tortured you.”

She handed Anakin a bowl as an afterthought, and he took it silently. The conversation had traveled several parsecs away from any point at which he’d understood what was going on. Should he be defending himself? Apologizing?

He chose neither, instead taking a sip of the soup. It was warm and smooth with a bright, tangy flavor that surprised him. Very quickly, Anakin’s body began to remind him that his diet had consisted mainly of nutribars and mess food for months.

“So it’s not poisoned, then?” inquired Obi-Wan.

“No, it’s good.” Illustratively, Anakin took a much larger swallow. “ _Really_ good.”

Irenia’s smile rested on Anakin for a moment, before turning to Obi-Wan. “There goes your last excuse.”

Anakin could see Obi-Wan, who was never out of excuses, think of a litany of further ones instantly. Probably _perhaps it’s a slow-acting poison, before ingesting any I should wait to see if Anakin drops dead in the next 24 hours_. But that would have been too much, outstripping the joke and drawing attention to what Anakin was beginning to suspect was Obi-Wan’s very real desire to avoid eating. “Mm,” was all he said.

Irenia raised a significant eyebrow and then sat back, pointedly turning sideways to sit against the armrest so that she could see both of them. She made herself comfortable like it was easy, and Anakin watched Obi-Wan lift his chin slightly in response to whatever she’d silently communicated. At that moment, Anakin would have given his other hand to demolish the strange wall that kept Obi-Wan locked up tight in the Force. It was intolerable to sit here, inches from his master, and have no more idea what he was thinking than this random woman. Probably even less of an idea, honestly.

When she looked at him, Anakin tried to quickly exchange the scowl on his face for something more neutral.

“So, Anakin,” she said pleasantly, “how was Alpha’s torture your fault?”

“It _wasn’t_ ,” Obi-Wan insisted.

“Really? How would you know?” Irenia was blunt, but not unkind. “Just because he has a pretty face doesn’t mean anything, Alpha.”

“That’s _not_ what I said.”

Before he could find out how Obi-Wan had described him, Anakin interrupted, “No, she’s right, Obi-Wan. You don’t know me, and it _was_ partially my fault. We were on this, uh, long campaign. Months.” He shook his head. The less said about Jabiim, the better. “I was supposed to be watching your back, but I didn’t do my job like I should have. Of course, there were a lot of things going on, but I think it was at least a little because we, well. We were angry at each other, and you’d said some things I didn’t like.”

Anakin couldn't look Obi-Wan in the eyes. He wanted to skip over this, pretend it hadn’t happened that way, and he could have - neither of them knew. But part of Anakin had been waiting to say _sorry_ since the day he’d lost his master, had thought he’d have to keep waiting forever, and he wanted so much to finally be honest, even if Obi-Wan couldn’t fully understand.

“I think maybe I thought, ‘Well, if he's so smart, he can take care of himself,’ even though I should have _known_... Obi-Wan, I’m so sorry.”

“Shh, look at me,” said Obi-Wan. He had moved closer, leg and side against Anakin’s, solid and alive and exasperated. When Anakin didn’t respond, a warm, rough hand came up to grip his jaw and turn him to face his master. “I’m going to tell you once and for all that it isn’t your fault, and I don’t blame you. Now, I don’t want to hear any more about this. Can we move on?”

Anakin had to smile at Obi-Wan’s stern tone, even as he blinked moisture out of his eyes. Pulling Obi-Wan’s hand away from his face, he laughingly said, “Yes, Master.”

He only thought about the words when his eyes dropped to Irenia, over Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Her expression was guarded, but her wide eyes betrayed the kind of shock that falls like a thunderclap from empty skies. Their eyes locked, and Anakin suddenly realized what he’d said.

Sith. Had she not realized Obi-Wan was a Jedi?

She’d long since pegged _him_ as a Jedi, he was pretty sure - had she not assumed Obi-Wan was the same? Maybe it was just the surprise of having it confirmed? Wary, fearful that he’d broken something fragile and irrevocable, Anakin suddenly didn’t want to release Obi-Wan’s hand as his master turned to look at Irenia.

Of course, Anakin did.

All Obi-Wan said was, “I _told_ you. Basic survivor’s guilt. He didn’t have anything to do with it.” He sounded actually a little irritated.

Part of Anakin wanted to spend a little more time dwelling on why, exactly, Obi-Wan was so adamant about Anakin’s blamelessness. He certainly had no objective proof, beyond Anakin’s dubious charm and the fact that Anakin hadn’t tried to kill him yet. It seemed out of character for Obi-Wan to make such an unshakable snap judgment based on so little, and Anakin very much wanted it to be evidence that maybe something in Obi-Wan’s subconscious _did_ recognize him - at least as no threat. He hoped Obi-Wan’s conscious self would share the same opinion.

The rest of Anakin, though, was too busy being impressed by how quickly Irenia recovered from her shock.

“Do you know who _did_ have something to do with it?” she asked, clearly having a bone to pick with that nameless individual. “I don't know if Alpha told you... Medically, I had never seen anything like it.”

“I told him,” said Obi-Wan.

Anakin was somewhat doubtful that he’d been given the whole story and, from the look she gave him, so was Irenia. It didn’t matter, though; he didn’t need to hear every detail. Anakin was pretty sure he’d seen enough to be able to read between the lines.

Irenia shook her head. “I just mean to say... I know the galaxy can be a dark place, especially now, but I just can’t _imagine_ what kind of creature would do that to another living being.”

Anakin blinked at her. “I can.”

Expectant, Irenia shifted forward. Anakin looked at Obi-Wan.

“I have wondered... why,” he admitted.

Of course. Anakin could imagine the confusion that would have plagued him, waking up with no memories, and grievously injured in an obviously deliberate way. Obi-Wan would have wondered if he had done something to deserve it.

“There’s this... woman.”

That hadn’t come out right. Irenia laughed out loud, and Anakin could feel his ears getting hot. Hopefully his hair hid if they were turning red.

“Of course,” said Irenia, still grinning, and Obi-Wan sighed. He crossed his arms and rolled his eyes and generally acted as if he was oppressed by both of their existences, but Anakin could tell he was glad to see Irenia distracted from dwelling on his ordeal. Anakin was, frankly, an expert at discerning Obi-Wan’s fake frowns from his real ones.

“No, I mean, we’re at war,” he tried again. “Ventress. She’s the enemy.”

“A Separatist?”

Anakin watched Obi-Wan, but all he saw in his master’s expression was abstract interest. “An assassin. She works for their leadership, but couldn’t give a kriff about their ideals.”

He still ran into Ventress, and far too frequently for his taste. So far he’d managed to avoid scuppering vital missions and stranding entire battalions of troops in favor of chasing and dismembering her like she deserved, but it had been a near thing a few times. Especially whenever she taunted Anakin about how she’d killed Obi-Wan right under his nose, killed him and left his body broken in the Jabiim mud, which was, oh, _always_.

“She was there, during the battle. We knew she was there - I knew she was there - and she had always been gunning specifically for you. That’s part of why I should have known there was more to what happened. Ventress would never be _satisfied_ with just killing you.”

Mindful of the moratorium Obi-Wan had placed on discussion of culpability, Anakin let some of his disgust leak into his tone. He was talking about Ventress, not himself. This whole time she had _known_ that Obi-Wan didn’t die in the explosion; she’d probably enjoyed taunting him about what he thought was his master’s fate, laughing because the reality was so much worse. Did she think Obi-Wan was dead, now? That he’d escaped, only to die of the torture she’d inflicted, alone and not even knowing his own name?

Kriffing hell, Anakin wanted to kill her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Anakin isn't a huge fan of some OFC being all up in his territory, and everyone gets to tease Obi-Wan!
> 
> CITATIONS  
> -None.


	8. Story of My Life

“Sorry,” Anakin said, aware that the last thing he’d said was disturbing. Probably shouldn't talk so casually about torture and murder in a nice little house like this, with hot soup in a bowl in his lap and two people who didn't understand. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “It’s not— I’m sorry.”

Obi-Wan was frowning at him thoughtfully. “It’s all right. It’s like hearing a story about someone else.”

Irenia didn’t think it was all right. She was upset, worried, afraid, and bleeding it all out into the Force. But Obi-Wan showed no sign of being able to sense anything from anyone, and she was keeping a straight enough face. There was just a little concerned divot between Irenia’s eyebrows as she leaned on the back of the couch, chin resting on her arm. 

Anakin looked at her, thinking twelve different things at once, none very cheerful. Then he smiled at Obi-Wan, and gave a watery laugh. “I’ve got lots of stories, Master. I haven’t asked you yet — which ones do you want to hear?”

“Let me think about it for a moment.” It only took Obi-Wan a few seconds before he asked, “I would like to know, what does ‘Alpha’ mean? I’m aware it’s a primary alphanumeric character in an antiquated language family, but—” 

“I know what you mean.” Anakin grinned. 

His internal Obi-Wan voice was nowhere near as surprising, nowhere near as ridiculous as his actual master. _I’m aware it’s a primary alphanumeric character_ _in an antiquated language family_. You honestly couldn’t make this stuff up. His grin faded when he thought about the actual question.

“Alpha was a soldier, your second-in-command.” Technically,  _ Anakin _ had been Obi-Wan’s second-in-command but he had preferred to think of his and Obi-Wan’s commissions as two entirely separate, yet partnered chains of command. “We all thought he died with you, but I guess it’s possible he was captured with you, instead,” said Anakin, only realizing the truth of his words as he said them. “If Ventress took you both, it makes sense that his name would be one of the only things you remember.”

Only Obi-Wan would know, really, what had happened to Alpha, and he certainly couldn’t tell them. Not yet, anyway. If the clone commando had been captured with Obi-Wan, though, and Obi-Wan had escaped and Alpha hadn’t... There were only a few conclusions Anakin could come to. Ventress would never have bothered to keep a clone alive all this time.

Obi-Wan nodded, but his frown only deepened.

Experimentally, Anakin reached for him in the Force, comfort and question. The same wall pushed him back, like trying to get a solid foothold on sheer, smooth durasteel. Anakin grappled for a second, trying to find any crack, any awareness that he might be able to slip through.

Nothing. Not even a single fissure.

Just like before, Obi-Wan didn’t seem to notice anything at all, even though Anakin had practically plastered himself all over Obi-Wan’s shields — if they were shields. If it was  _ shielding  _ keeping him from Obi-Wan’s Force presence, it was unlike any Obi-Wan had used against him before, even during their worst fights. There was no way in, except by battering them down and, while Anakin might be able to do it, it would be an act of incredible psychic violence.

Stymied, Anakin was reduced to asking. “What’s that face for, Master? If you have another question—”

“Hm? Oh, no, it’s just — frustrating. I feel like somewhat of an impostor. Like all this... doesn’t belong to me. I wish I could...” That look, longing and confusion mixed, shadowed Obi-Wan’s expression again.

“You’re still the same person even if you don’t remember,” said Anakin, blunt because he didn’t know how to be any other way. An awkward shuffle — he had to put his empty soup bowl down on the floor, get Obi-Wan’s still-full one out of the way — and he moved sideways, his knee pressing against Obi-Wan’s leg. “Here, look.”

Anakin fit his hands to his master’s neck and shoulder, easy and familiar. The scars left by Ventress stood out against his skin, but those were not Anakin’s goal. Tracing down to Obi-Wan’s collarbone, Anakin was momentarily dumbstruck by the reality of it: Obi-Wan, warm under his hand, watching him with curious gray eyes. Maybe it was Obi-Wan’s shaved face, or that he wore only one layer instead of full Jedi robes, the way he had used to to, coming back from training when Anakin was brand-new at the Temple, but, for a second, memories of being small and cold all the time and wanting more than anything for his new master to like him overpowered the present reality. 

Then, Obi-Wan’s hand came up to cover Anakin’s own, pressing gently and then holding his wrist. “Anakin?”

“You have a scar here.” Anakin ran his thumb over an irregularly-shaped ridge of scar tissue just under Obi-Wan’s collarbone. It was long, but the wound had been shallow — a little frightening because of the blood, but not something either of them had had time to worry about in the heat of the moment. By the time they had a minute to spare, it had already scabbed over. “Do you know where you got it?”

“No,” said Obi-Wan. “Should I assume that you do?”

Wryness pressed at the corner of Anakin’s mouth, and he took his hand back. “Ragoon-6.” 

“The Core World wilderness preserve?” Obi-Wan’s gaze shifted, faraway in thought. “Temperate climate, populated by the native Ragoon species, offworld travelers forbidden except for the Aeton and—” Wincing suddenly, Obi-Wan brought a hand to his head. “Ah—”

“You remember it?” Delighted shock lanced through Anakin, followed quickly by concern. “Are you okay, Master?”

Irenia moved, freeing herself of her own bowl and reaching out. She tried to touch Obi-Wan, but he shrugged her off. “Do we need to stop?”

“I’m fine,” said Obi-Wan, snapping a little more than Anakin thought the situation warranted. “Just a headache.”

“Let me know if you start feeling any symptoms.”

Symptoms of what? Anakin wondered, but Obi-Wan’s body language insistently discouraged inquiry. He stayed quiet, and scooted back so that Obi-Wan wouldn’t feel crowded on all sides. The amount of physical proximity Obi-Wan had been allowing thus far was extraordinary, but he didn’t trust it to continue when his master was irritated.

“Of course.”

Irenia gave him a hard look. “Alpha.”

“I’m  _ fine _ . Anyway,” Obi-Wan turned back to Anakin, clearly wanting to leave the current topic behind, “I thought Ragoon-6 was a Legacy world, and doesn’t allow tourists.”

“It is. Like you said, travel is restricted to people from Aaeton and — us.” Anakin blinked a little bit. He had been going to say “and the Jedi,” and it occurred to him that perhaps that was what  _ Obi-Wan _ had been about to say, before pain in his head brought him up short. “How do you know that? Do you remember?”

“No. I don’t remember Ragoon-6, but I must have learned about it somewhere. I can recall climate analysis, and I feel like there was some issue with the health of the native population. But I have no memories of what it’s  _ like _ there, or of being there myself.”

“We were there for a while. You wanted us to do some training there, but of course it didn’t last a day before turning into a disaster.”

“Why do I get the feeling I’m being blamed for this,” said Obi-Wan.

“Well, the trip _ was _ your idea. Even if the bounty hunters weren’t.”

“Bounty hunters?” Irenia was clearly hoping someone would reassure her Anakin was telling some sort of joke. She was too smart, though, to have much real expectation of that.

“A few of them turned out to be nicer than they seemed.” Anakin gave her the only consolation he could. “But before we knew that, Obi-Wan caught some flak from one of their slugthrowers.”

At that, Irenia’s entire face expressed her contempt. “Barbaric weapon.”

The bounty hunters probably would have used blasters, but they weren’t foolish enough to shoot at Jedi with something that could be reflected with a lightsaber. Anakin nodded, shrugging. “It was only a ricochet, though. Healed too fast for there to be any use putting bacta on it when we finally got back to Coruscant.”

Obi-Wan listened with bright interest, head slightly tilted and a thoughtful crease between his eyebrows. In the past, Anakin had been used to knowing the pattern of his master’s thoughts almost as instinctively as his own. Even without directly accessing their bond in the Force, Obi-Wan had never been inscrutable to Anakin. His opinions and feelings had been often difficult to understand, sure, but difficult to discern? Very rarely. 

It caught in Anakin’s gut and rankled that now all he could see was Obi-Wan’s fixed attention, and that same half-hidden, inexpressible wanting. He couldn’t tell if Obi-Wan was pleased, puzzled, uncomfortable... He had hoped to see if Obi-Wan had any associations connected with Coruscant, but, when Anakin mentioned it, the planet’s name flew by like all his other words. He could see no change in Obi-Wan’s expression.

“Is that why I have so many scars? Because I’ve been injured in places too remote to be treated immediately?”

Obi-Wan’s slight glance to the side as he asked made Anakin wonder whether it was Irenia’s question or Obi-Wan’s. She certainly seemed interested, arching a pointed eyebrow at Obi-Wan like they had some private disagreement on the topic. Biting the inside of his cheek sharply, Anakin gathered up his jealous, possessive irritation and envisioned jettisoning out the airlock of his mind.

“Partially. During an active mission we often can’t access immediate medical care beyond what we carry in our packs, and usually minor injuries aren’t high on the priority list,” said Anakin dryly. “There’s plenty of time for wounds that would heal flawlessly with one smear of bacta to scab over and leave marks, instead.”

“Is that what happened to your hand?” Irenia matched Anakin’s pert tone perfectly. Yep, she was definitely the one with the acklay in this fight.

Anakin hadn’t even been aware either of them had noticed his prosthetic, and suddenly felt particularly aware of its weight. He fought to avoid looking at it, or instinctively moving it out of view. “Yeah,” he snarked. “Limbs can be reattached sometimes, but not on useless Outer Rim rock heaps, and not after too much time has passed.” 

_ And not when the wound is cauterized _ , Anakin didn’t add.

Irenia didn’t seem pacified. It was obvious that she thought he had something to hide. Anakin held her gaze, but knew that what she needed was a full explanation, and he still shied away from giving one. Barreling past the sharp warning in the Force when he strayed too close to explicitly bringing up the Jedi went against Anakin’s every instinct.

Obi-Wan gave Anakin a knowing look. “Irenia has been half convinced that my former life involved all kinds of horrendous neglect and deprivation because ‘no one receiving reasonable medical care would end up with this many untreated injuries’.”

That made some sense, Anakin guessed, especially considering the condition Obi-Wan had been in when Irenia had first met him. It would be hard to not extrapolate the damage Ventress had inflicted back onto the rest of Obi-Wan’s life and sure, Anakin had to admit they did get injured and captured pretty frequently. The Halls of Healing were always able to put them back together again afterward, excepting only the relatively minor marks that were sometimes left behind.

“Hazards of the job,” said Anakin. “But hey, let’s be fair. We have the most advanced and well-equipped medical facility in the Republic. Any  _ neglect _ you experienced is probably because you’re literally the worst patient in the history of sentient life.”

“That’s a rather harsh accusation to make when I can’t even defend myself.”

Humor underlined all Obi-Wan’s words, and Anakin grinned. “You can pretend ignorance, but if you redesigned your clinic’s security system or whatever while they were trying to treat you, then I know you know what I mean, Obi-Wan.”

“I was perfectly cooperative—”

“Irenia knows what I mean,” observed Anakin.

She did. Her expression hadn’t softened, but Anakin could see the fondness in her eyes. Who knows what travails she had gone through trying to heal Obi-Wan — trying to get him to sit still long enough to heal — but it was clear she would do it all over again in a minute.

“Let’s see if this sounds familiar. ‘For pity’s sake, _ Anakin _ , it’s hardly serious — practically healed already! I’ll go to the healers’ when I need to. Stop pestering me!’” Anakin delivered a flawless imitation of Obi-Wan’s aggravated voice.

Obi-Wan’s only defense was a scathing eye roll, because he couldn’t exactly deny it. Even if he had tried, it probably wouldn’t have flown very far, given the smile Irenia was poorly hiding behind her hand. 

“There’s the possibility I was right,” he tried.

“Don’t even,” said Irenia, and Anakin scoffed in agreement.

“You know that divot in your thigh?”

“Here?” Obi-Wan jabbed two fingers into the side of  his left thigh. Anakin could tell by the way Irenia’s eyes tracked there too that she was also familiar with the scar in question. He took a deep breath, and let it out again.

“Yeah. It was pretty deep. Knife.” Anakin made an illustrative stabbing gesture. “Well, you treated it yourself and then actually wanted to leave again for another mission without getting it sealed by the healers.”

“And I suppose you rescued me from my own folly?”

“No.” He’d tried — but no. “You were in charge, not me. We went. Of course, by the time we got back your leg was almost totally useless and Master Che had no choice but to strap you to a bed in the healers’ ward.” Shaking his head, Anakin found that his words stuck in his throat. Watching his master carefully, without actually letting on that he was watching, to make sure Obi-Wan turned out to be as “fine” as he always claimed — it felt like such a long time ago. Memories from another universe. “That’s why it’s strange to see you at the clinic, when in the past you’d have probably performed your own amputation before actually going to the healers voluntarily.”

“I don’t mind,” said Obi-Wan, “as long as they’re not doing anything to  _ me _ .”

“Right.” Anakin laughed. “I guess you did always make  _ me _ go to the healers. Even when I tried your ‘I’ll be good as new after a hot shower and some rest’ line, there was no mercy.”

“Of course not. My problems are my own affair, but if you were in my care—”

“No, they’re not! Force’s sake, Master, your problems are my affair too. How many times do I have to remind you, the oath binds both ways?”

“What oath?” Obi-Wan asked. He was wincing again.

“The — It’s a promise I made you. I’m sorry. Don’t worry about it.” Anakin slumped, allowing a thin sigh to escape him. Rehashing such an old point of contention, he had almost forgotten he wasn’t talking to an Obi-Wan who remembered all those disputes. “We’ve had this conversation before. Several times.” It had always involved yelling.

_ You’ve made a commitment to the Jedi Order — a commitment not easily broken —  _

Squinting so narrowly his eyes nearly closed, Obi-Wan pressed the heel of his hand to the back of his neck, almost at the base of his skull. Anakin could sense the sharp pitch of Irenia’s alarm as it rose, but before he could feel any of his own, Obi-Wan said, “Protect.” 

Just one word, and pried loose like it had taken blood and sweat, but several seconds’ silence passed before Anakin could close his slack mouth. “Yes,” he said, once he had rediscovered words. His pulse was suddenly racing. “That’s part of the oath—”

“What — ? There’s more...”

The oath Anakin had been taught as a nine-year-old to swear to the Council, the Order, and the Jedi Code, was a little long; he didn’t really remember all of it. The promises made between padawan and master were short, and Anakin remembered every syllable.

“I will seek,” he said, feeling something old and wounded inside him ache. 

Obi-Wan’s gaze was fixed on him now, a pained crease etched into his forehead, and it was easy to imagine Obi-Wan the way he had looked standing in front of the Council years ago, at the beginning of everything. Qui-Gon dead and Padme gone, feeling like a trapped animal, Anakin had repeated the words he was told to say. At the time, he had had little more idea what the oaths actually meant than if they had been in an unknown language, but he had looked at Obi-Wan’s grave face and weighted shoulders and felt as if they must be something very terrible.

“That’s what you say.” Obi-Wan stared at Anakin like the sheer force of his attention could reveal every mystery. “Isn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s my part.” 

“What do—” Obi-Wan flinched slightly, but shook it off. “What do I say?”

Hesitating, Anakin took in Obi-Wan’s posture, tense as if braced to ward off a blow. He wasn’t holding his head anymore, but his hands were white knuckled where he dug them into the cushion. When Anakin looked past Obi-Wan to Irenia, the warning in her eyes was like a slap in the face. The Force swirled, a wary oscillation that only Anakin could feel. He met Obi-Wan’s eyes, and swallowed.

“You say, ‘I will guide.’”

“I will guide. Yes,” repeated Obi-Wan. He sucked in a breath, squeezing his eyes shut briefly. Struggle was visible in the stubborn set of his mouth and the hunch of his shoulders, but one second connected to the next and, even though Anakin waited on a knife’s edge, the world did not end. Squinting at Anakin, Obi-Wan said, “I will protect.”

Anakin’s heart soared right through the ceiling. “I will strive.”

The smile he earned in response was too wan and brief for Anakin’s liking. “There’s more?”

“Do you — Do you remember?”

“I know... there was a room — It was cold—” Obi-Wan hissed, frustrated or in pain or both. “I know it’s there... It’s there, but I can’t reach it.”

“Master, maybe you shouldn’t push—”

“No! No, I know there’s more. Tell me.” Tension still lined Obi-Wan’s face. He moved, purpose uncertain, but he might have been reaching out, so Anakin took his hand and held it tight anyway. “Anakin—” 

His name pushed out through gritted teeth. Was it a question or a plea? Either way, the answer was the same. 

“Yes, Master. I’m here.”

“Tell me. Please. I need—” Every word came with difficulty, Obi-Wan almost hunched over with the effort. Irenia’s fear sang in painful dissonance with the resonance of the Force. Gripping his master’s hand, Anakin had a very bad feeling about this. But, Obi-Wan had asked — Anakin didn’t know if he could bear to refuse.

The Force burned with the warning to tread carefully. But Obi-Wan had said  _ please _ .

Decision made, Anakin dropped the words into place like each one was a hammer blow. “Master, apprentice, the Force. All are one.”

Obi-Wan had gone white. His eyes had fallen closed, but still fluttered as though seeing invisible visions behind his eyelids. 

“Anakin, move.” Irenia was standing, gesturing urgently. Anakin hadn’t even noticed her get up.

“Master?”

No answer. A heartbeat of stillness filled the room. Then, the tight-strung tension cracked in half and spilled chaos. Obi-Wan tore his hand out of Anakin’s grip. The violence was baffling, contextless, and there was no chance to understand. Anakin was bodily hauled out of his seat.

“Anakin!  _ Move _ !” Irenia shouted in his ear.

He moved. Staggered, stumbled, whatever — until he could get his feet back under him and catch his bearings enough to shrug Irenia’s too-tight grip off his arm. She pushed him, illustrative and sharp, hands flat against his shoulders, before commanding, “Stay here.”

Confronted suddenly with unexpected aggression, Anakin brimmed with adrenaline. His senses sharpened and he channeled the power of the Force like a lightning rod, an instant reaction honed by war. But there was nothing to fight. Irenia was gone, moving across the room, her attention laser focused and none of it on him.

On the couch, Obi-Wan seized.

Once, in the slave quarters of Gardulla the Hutt’s Tatooine palace, Anakin had seen a man in the later stages of brainrot plague. They had carried him in still thrashing, and left him. He had died that day, but not before spending hours in agony.

Anakin remembered the floor, hard-packed rock and always covered with a fine layer of sand no matter how often you brushed it off. He remembered the terror, crouched in the corner as far away as he could be while the man suffered through seizure after seizure. He had seemed curiously false in the midst of his convulsions, like a child’s doll or a toy in the hand of a cruel youngling, rather than a person. A rictus of pain twisted his limbs into grotesque contortions, stiff and shaking, and he was helpless as the rot destroyed his nervous system. 

Anakin had barricaded himself against the nearly palpable misery and anguish that seemed to suffocate the room. He didn’t know whether he hated the seizures more, or the panting, vomiting pauses in between. He had known the man was dying. His light was fading — even as a toddler Anakin had seen it.

Then, just a few months ago, Grievous had unleashed a strain of the same plague on the Loedorvia System. Trillions had died the exact same death — in unrelenting pain, their own bodies beyond their control. In a matter of weeks, the rot had spread through the whole quarantined sector and killed every human who was unable to escape, including more than two legions of clones. 

Anakin hadn’t been there, but he had been part of the force that was hunting Grievous just before. The cyborg general had managed to shake their pursuit, and so many had paid the price. For the next several weeks, Anakin had struggled to fight back the taste of bile in the back of his throat, and the hot, stale smell of the slave quarters.

He stood frozen for a suspended, infinite moment. Eyes wide open, he saw Obi-Wan thrash, entire body shuddering uncontrollably, saw him fall to the floor, his head cracking against the ground. Irenia was there — she knelt beside Obi-Wan and, with practiced hands, pushed him onto his side. From her, Anakin could sense tired sorrow, locked away and blanketed under a thick layer of determination.

From Obi-Wan — still nothing.

The rigid violence of the upheaval that possessed Obi-Wan stunned Anakin. Seeing him thrash and contort, eyes rolled back in his head, and yet being able to feel nothing but an absolute absence in the Force — it was almost grotesque, like a tiny piece of the world had been ripped out of reality. The intrusive memory of the brainrot plague — hiding his face and wishing as hard as he could that death and its peace would finally come to that slave — warred with the instinct, hardwired after years of combat experience, to lash back against attack. 

If someone were hurting Ahsoka like this, how fast would Anakin have reacted? The fight would already be over. But here, he was as helpless as Obi-Wan.

When Anakin took a few halting steps forward, Irenia lifted a hand. “Stay back,” she said, still crouched between Obi-Wan and the couch. 

“Is it—” Anakin didn’t know what he wanted to ask.

“It happens sometimes. When he fights too hard for the past.”

Irenia’s expression was flat when she looked at him, and Anakin said nothing else. They both waited, staying as still as they could be, as if that might somehow help Obi-Wan. It seemed to take an age for his frenetic motion to slow and, when it did, Anakin could feel his own relief surge together with Irenia’s. A muffled beep began to sound, but they both had much more important things to worry about.

Carefully, Anakin knelt down. Obi-Wan seemed unconscious, lying on his side, the seizure finally releasing its grip on him and allowing his body to lapse into tranquility. His hair in disarray and eyelashes resting against his cheeks, he might have just been sleeping. He was breathing — that was the first thing Anakin looked for.

Then, he checked his master’s head. Obi-Wan had hit pretty hard against the floor, but Anakin was kind of a terrible healer when he couldn’t use the Force, and he wasn’t sure if he would even be able to tell if anything was wrong. 

“He seems okay?” he pitched the half-question to Irenia.

“Yes,” she sighed, bracing her hands on her knees. “He will be. In a minute or so he should be conscious — it’ll be a little longer than that before he’s really coherent.”

How many times had she done this before, to know that so certainly?

“Should we, uh.” Anakin’s hand still rested on his master’s shoulder, hesitating. Should he push him onto his back? It might be more comfortable. “Should we just leave him here?”

“I usually do,” said Irenia dryly. “I would probably give him an even worse concussion, trying to carry him somewhere else.”

“He has a concussion?”

Irenia smiled at him, so unexpected it made Anakin blink. “No. I don’t think so. I was just—” She didn’t finish, and even with the Force Anakin couldn’t tell what lay behind the way she was looking at him. “If you want, you could take him to the bedroom. He’ll need to rest, and he was exhausted before this anyway.”

“Yeah.” Anakin’s hand tightened on Obi-Wan’s arm, and he made a conscious effort to relax. “Let’s do that. If you could show me—?”

“Of course.”

Anakin had some experience carrying Obi-Wan. It wasn’t exactly difficult — he could lift much heavier things for much longer time periods, with the Force — but this time he didn’t have to sling his master’s unconscious form into an emergency carry so that he could run, so he didn’t. Sliding one arm under Obi-Wan’s back and another under his knees, Anakin lifted him that way, so that his head rested on Anakin’s shoulder.

With a critical eye, Irenia watched him adjust Obi-Wan slightly, until he was satisfied. Anakin was about to prompt her to lead the way to the bedroom, but she turned abruptly and frowned at the wall, the side table, the couch. “What’s that?”

“What?”

“That noise.”

It took a minute of focus before Anakin registered the beeping, and another before he realized its source. “Oh. That’s my OEI mapper. I took a reading of Obi-Wan’s implant, and I guess it’s telling me that it’s done with its analysis.”

Irenia raised her eyebrows at him, too slowly. “Where is it?”

“Uh, I think I set it on the cushion? Maybe it fell?”

It wasn’t on the floor. Irenia fished it out from between the couch cushion and seat back, and its alarm become suddenly loud and jarring. She turned it off, and nodded Anakin towards the door. “This way.”

Anakin followed, silent. Even his footsteps were quiet, boots against thin carpeting, and his thoughts were all for the warm weight in his arms. He could feel Obi-Wan’s shallow breaths in his chest, and rested his cheek against his master’s hair. He was so thankful for the quiet, and for a short moment all the worries and what-ifs and theories and possible consequences left him alone.

After a short hallway, Irenia palmed a door open and stepped to the side. “Here.”

Inside was a room, small and several of the surfaces stacked with datapads and what looked like blueprints or schematics. Anakin smiled at the neat piles, and moved to lay Obi-Wan down in the bed that took up most of the floor space. It was a familiar sort of bed, maybe the same size as one a masters’ suite in the Temple might have, or possibly a little bigger, but he was happy to see it was lined with plenty of good blankets. He could sense Obi-Wan in this room, too — his focus, and the faint imprint left behind by his steady glow.

Anakin wished he could sense it from Obi-Wan himself.

He was wondering indecisively whether he should put the blankets over Obi-Wan or leave him be, when Irenia entered. She dimmed the level of the lights, which was good. Anakin should have thought of that — Obi-Wan’s head was probably going to hurt.

“He’s fine,” said Irenia, probably noticing Anakin’s hesitant posture. “He’ll be awake in a minute.” 

She sat down on the foot of the bed, folding up cross-legged like she was comfortable there. Looking for any other furniture in the room, Anakin found none. He sat down on the edge of the mattress, careful to leave Obi-Wan plenty of space. While his attention was on his master, he was constantly conscious of Irenia’s eyes on him.

Anakin finally met her gaze, and was unsurprised when she lifted the OEI device and pinned him with an expectant look. “So,” she said. “This.”

“What about it?”

“How did you get it?”

“The scanner?” Anakin asked. He was being deliberately obtuse, sure, but _ she _ was being deliberately vague and confusing.

“No! The reading — the reading of his implant. How did you get it?”

“Uh. I attached the leads to the corresponding ports in the implant—”

“How did you  _ get him to let you do that _ ,” demanded Irenia, frustration sharpening her voice and narrowing her eyes.

Now Anakin was just confused. “I asked?”

“You just asked.”

“Yeah,” said Anakin, trying not to become angry in turn. “Basically.”

“Was this earlier today, before you came to the clinic?”

“No, I took the reading while you were warming the soup.”

Irenia stared at him, incredulous. A long beat of silence passed before she said, “Alpha let you?”

“...Yeah? He didn’t like it. He was pretty uncomfortable about it, actually, but it’s not painful or anything. It takes what, two minutes?” She was shaking her head, as if in disbelief, and Anakin asked, “What? Why are you so surprised?”

“Because we tried to scan that implant several times when he first came to us.” Anakin frowned at her, but she shrugged back. “Of course we did.  Examination of any medical devices a patient is already using is part of the routine full physical, and a patient like him— Of course we did.”

“It didn’t work?”

“He fought us. Wouldn’t let us even touch it.”

Anakin sat back in surprise. Obi-Wan had been uncomfortable, but nothing like _ that _ . “Why?”

“No idea.” Irenia’s mouth flattened into a displeased line. “Broke the nose of one of my nurses on the second day he was here. Even now, if I bring it up, he’ll refuse to talk to me. All he says is, ‘I need that thing.’” She copied Obi-Wan’s accent, tossing her head a little. Obviously, this was some kind of a sore spot.

What did it mean, that Obi-Wan reacted violently to other people messing with the implant, but only bounced his leg nervously when Anakin did? The Force had been clear about the implant, when Anakin had been here earlier — it was connected to their path forward. Maybe Obi-Wan knew that as well, even if he was blocked off in the Force.

“Well.” Anakin spread his arms, nodding at the scanner Irenia still held. “You have the data now.”

“Yes,” said Irenia, first frowning at the device, and then at Anakin. “Would you mind if I look at it?”

She hadn’t let go of the OEI scanner since she had first picked it up, and had made no move to return it to Anakin. She had to be ravenous to know what information it held — what Obi-Wan had been so determined to protect, but was unable to explain. Even so, she had still asked.

“Please,” Anakin said, fighting back a yawn even though he was anything but sleepy. “You’ll probably understand it better than I would, anyway. I’ve only ever used that thing for magnetic fields and circuit arrays.”

The only acknowledgment Anakin received was a noncommittal hum. Irenia was already wholly focused on the scanner’s readout.

Anakin wanted to understand too, but he didn’t feel the need to urgently and immediately pore over the results of the implant scan. He would have to figure out the truth in order to help Obi-Wan, but he didn’t have to chase that truth. On some level beyond the conscious, he already knew. As he waited, Anakin matched his breathing to his master’s and tried not to think about the brainrot plague, or about Jabiim. 

“This isn’t—” muttered Irenia, before her words faded into another concentrating frown. Absently, she bit down on the knuckle of her thumb as she studied the holographic analysis scrolling in front of her narrowed eyes. “This is odd.”

That much Anakin had already been certain of. “Is it not for nerve damage?”

“The scanner doesn’t know. Of course, its databanks are minimal so it’s not too surprising, but it was unable to match the electronic imprint of Alpha’s implant to any of its own models. That doesn’t mean it’s  _ not _ for nerve damage,” she admitted. “Just that we can’t confirm that it _is_. And — it has no maker tag.”

She said that last part with foreboding, like the fact that an implant wasn’t manufactured by one of the big pharmaceutical conglomerates that equipped their every product with an electronic signature to identify its make and model had to necessarily mean it was sinister. Anakin didn’t know what he was supposed to say to that — half the life-saving medical equipment in the galaxy was generic or knockoff, anyway. Not everyone could be born on a comfortable Mid Rim trading planet.

“I should take this back to the clinic. The reading isn’t ringing any bells with me, either. Doesn’t seem like anything I’ve ever seen before, but the medical database we keep should be able to ID it.”

“No,” said Anakin, matter-of-fact.

Irenia raised her eyebrows in sardonic surprise, and he shrugged one shoulder at her.

“I’d be happy to transfer you a copy of the reading to analyze, but I’m going to have to head back to the Rotunda as soon as it’s morning, and we have medical databases too.” It was more likely that the GAR’s database would include what he strongly suspected was one of Ventress’s toys than that Irenia’s civilian one would. “I’m taking the scanner back with me.”

“I think it’s already morning.”

Anakin checked his comm. She was right, technically. “Briefing is at oh-three-hundred.”

“Then you don’t have very much time,” Irenia observed, only a little bit pointed.

They exchanged a flat look. Anakin found himself thinking of two territorial nexu circling each other warily just before a fight. Briefly, Anakin wondered if vaguely terrifying blonde women were Obi-Wan’s type — or if vaguely terrifying blonde women had a type, and it was Obi-Wan. 

Irenia rested her chin on her hand and sighed, long and thin, like she had been holding it back for a long time. “You’re a Jedi.”

Anakin looked down at himself, as if only just noticing his robes. “Sweet Force, you’re right.”

Unamused, Irenia straightened sharply and jerked her chin at Obi-Wan. “And him?”

With a nod, Anakin confirmed what she already had to know. She wasn’t surprised — she had just wanted to finally hear it. “Obi-Wan raised me. Taught me everything I know,” he said. Mentally, he knew that wasn’t completely true, but in the moment it  _ felt  _ true.

“I can see that.” Irenia’s mouth twisted slightly at the corner, and Anakin wasn’t sure what exactly she was referring to. It might have been the sarcasm, though.

The humor only lasted for a brief moment, before silence and too many crowded thoughts choked it. Irenia looked at Obi-Wan, eyes full of something Anakin couldn’t name, and then back to him, clearly struggling with something. Anakin could sense her turmoil, how hard she fought to stay within the bounds of what she thought of as reasonable. But she couldn’t hide her fear, and Anakin thought that, even half-hidden, he recognized the shape of it.

“I will take him away,” said Anakin, “if I can.”

The crawling discomfort of being too well seen, a hazard of interacting with Jedi, tightened Irenia’s shoulders. “What if — he does not wish to go?”

Obi-Wan was still, except for the steady rise and fall of his chest. Anakin’s gaze caught on his master’s face, so strangely bare, and he looked for the permanent indent that was always between Obi-Wan’s eyebrows. It was still there, but only just. 

“If he remembers,” Anakin said, “he will.”

She wanted to challenge him — Anakin could feel it. But she didn’t. She wouldn’t.

Irenia only asked, almost whispering, “What if he never remembers?”

Did she really think that was a possibility worth considering? Anakin knew she didn’t have the Force, but... Obi-Wan would remember. It wasn’t a question. Surely she had to see that too. Before responding, though, Anakin paused. 

Had he imagined—? 

No. Obi-Wan’s breathing had definitely changed.

“I think he’s waking up.”

Irenia scooted forward, touching Obi-Wan’s leg just briefly. “Alpha? Can you hear me?” She kept her voice soft.

There was no answer, not right away. First, Obi-Wan’s breathing pattern shifted, and then his eyelids fluttered. He came back slowly but surely, stage by stage. Sounds returned before words and, when Anakin took his hand and asked, “Master?” he was able to squeeze back and make an affirmative noise in response.

The concept of giving Obi-Wan space had fled Anakin’s mind; now he was practically sitting touching him. Still mostly out of it, Obi-Wan turned his head to the side and kept his eyes squeezed shut, so Anakin restrained himself and only brushed the hair out of his master’s face with careful fingers. “Just rest, Master. We’ll be here when you feel like doing something else.”

With an acknowledging hum, Obi-Wan found Anakin’s robes and blindly pressed his forehead against them, curling up at Anakin’s side. The small motion astounded Anakin, and for a moment he almost didn’t dare to breathe. Then, he smiled, every inch of his heart filling with light. He wanted to be with Obi-Wan in the Force, comforting him and guiding him smoothly back to consciousness. If that wasn’t possible, though, he had to admit this as a substitute was all right.

It was a long minute between when Anakin looked back at Irenia, and when she was able to drag her eyes from Obi-Wan. Silence filled the spaces between them and, for a while, they let it.

“Do you have a family name, Anakin?”

Anakin tilted his head slightly. “Skywalker.”

Eyes dark as she surveyed him, Irenia pressed her lips together in something that was not quite a frown. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Anakin Skywalker.”

Another pause. She stared down at her hands. Then, she lifted the OEI mapper and held it out to Anakin. An impatient shake in his direction instructed him to take it, and he did. As Obi-Wan began to stir a little, Anakin quickly hid the scanner away back into his belt pouch.

Slowly pushing himself up on one elbow, Obi-Wan took Anakin by surprise. He tried to sit up, but hissed in frustration, not quite able to make it. “Whoa,” Anakin said, and offered his shoulder, hooking an arm around Obi-Wan and hoisting him to sit upright. 

Obi-Wan’s hand stayed fisted in Anakin’s robes, and he seemed content to keep his arm looped over Anakin’s shoulder for support, so Anakin didn’t think he needed to worry about backing off. Just to check though — “You good?”

Taking a deep breath, Obi-Wan pressed at his eyes with the heel of his free hand. “Oh,” he said, more gravel than voice. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I don’t think I’d say that quite yet. Maybe in a minute, once my limbs feel like they belong to me again.”

Irenia smiled at him, diffusing fondness into the Force. She reached for Obi-Wan’s hand, and he took and squeezed hers for a moment before letting go. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh please,” said Irenia.

“For what?” asked Anakin. “You didn’t do anything.”

Obi-Wan tugged sharply at where he gripped Anakin’s tunic — a motion Anakin remembered like a lost limb, even though it had been more than a year since he’d had his padawan braid. “You both just delivered a lecture on how  _ careless _ I am, didn’t you? Don’t pass up this golden chance to say ‘I told you so,’ or I’ll be disappointed.”

Anakin, for one, didn’t feel like it.

“Pace yourself, listen to your body, consequences, chronic illness, blah blah blah,” said Irenia, rolling her eyes. Apparently she didn’t feel like it either. “I’m sure you can fill in the rest.”

Sharp and real, Obi-Wan laughed. “At least it was worth it.” He looked at Anakin, eyes still crinkled with pleasure. “I remembered something.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ll remember a lot more. I think I’ve got an idea of what might be suppressing your memory.”

“Oh?” Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying one bit of what Anakin was selling.

That was all right, though. Anakin would trust the Force for his master, until Obi-Wan could do it for himself again. He nodded. “I have to leave pretty soon, Master. Get back to my men. But I’ll come back tomorrow — today — whatever—” He waved a dismissive hand at the vagaries of the time system that called it morning already. “I’ll come back later, and I should have more information by then. I’ll find you here? Or at the clinic?”

“Yes, one or the other.”

Again, Anakin got the impression that Obi-Wan was just humoring him, letting him chase after ghosts so he wouldn’t upset himself. When he looked at Irenia, for once Anakin knew they were on the exact same page. An identical note of exasperation passed between them in a glance.

“Trust me, Master.” Anakin turned his brightest, brashest grin on Obi-Wan. “I’m going to fix this.”

Obi-Wan laughed, but his gaze was soft. “Your delusions of grandeur are somehow oddly comforting.” After a minute, he added, “I’m glad you’re here, Anakin.”

“Me too, Master.”

“What will you do?” asked Irenia. “At the Rotunda?”

“Can’t say.” Anakin shrugged, shoulders rolling under the warm weight of Obi-Wan’s arm. He actually didn’t know the details about the off-planet Separatist comm center they were supposed to be busting, so he couldn’t say even if he wanted to.

“Well, whatever it is, be careful,” Obi-Wan warned. “I just learned that I swore an oath to protect you, after all.”

Now it was Anakin’s turn to laugh. That was  _ really _ not the accepted interpretation of the apprenticeship oath. Obi-Wan didn’t need to know that, though, he supposed. At least, not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- *runs into room screaming and hurls this chapter into your lap*
> 
> \- Seriously, I repent in sackcloth and ashes for the wait. I got a new job and bronchitis over the last couple months, among other things. At least the chapter's long? And I have the next one already 100% written so there's that.
> 
> CITATIONS:  
> \- ARC Trooper Alpha-17 survived the Jabiim arc in the Dark Horse comics. In this AU he's dead, though. :(
> 
> \- Obi-Wan and Anakin's mission to Ragoon-6 is found in _Jedi Quest: The Trail of the Jedi_ by Jude Watson. I've never gotten my hands on the book, though, so Anakin's version of the events here is my fabrication.
> 
> \- Grievous did wipe out the entire Weemell Sector with brainrot plague. Some seriously messed up stuff went down during the Clone Wars, guys.


	9. Tale of Two Missions

Before he left, Anakin bugged Obi-Wan’s speeder again. It was really a mediocre machine, he thought, dissatisfied that nobody was looking out to make sure Obi-Wan got quality vehicles. Then, he had to laugh at himself.

Right, Skywalker — because _that_ was definitely their biggest problem to date.

Obi-Wan had been nearly back to normal by the time Anakin had had to take off, but so clearly exhausted that it almost terrified Anakin more than the seizure had. Despite the trembling he couldn’t quite stop in his hands and how he struggled to focus, it had been obvious he was going to refuse to do anything resembling rest while Anakin was there. So, for several reasons, Anakin had to face the inevitable and leave the tiny, self-contained world of that house behind.

Driving back through the (mostly) deserted streets, he multitasked by trying to skim through the implant reading analysis while steering his bike with the other hand. It didn’t work that well since he was no expert on the human body or its processes. He didn’t crash, of course, although he may have cut it slightly close once or twice — but without a kriffing translator for all of this jargon, Anakin couldn’t come to any real conclusions. He could see, though, that the analysis described the implant performing many, many more functions than what he would have expected from something that just regulated occasional flare-ups from damaged nerves

It was possible that Obi-Wan had purposefully misrepresented the extent of the implant’s functions... but Anakin didn’t think so. He needed to get this thing evaluated as soon as possible. Somehow. In between actually carrying out whatever this mission was going to be.

When he arrived, the Rotunda hangar was deserted except for the prep crew. Anakin dropped his speeder bike in a line of similar vehicles, all kept for the use of Rotunda security staff, and made his way to the central comm room.

The elegant halls of the government building were empty, too, for which Anakin was grateful. It had become very clear over the few days they’d been here that the GAR’s presence made Centares ministers far more uncomfortable than it made Centares citizens. Since the ministers and their staffs were the source of the leak that fed privileged inside information to this Separatist spy ring, it made sense, but it was still a relief to be able to walk without being assaulted on every side with furtive looks and guilty consciences. Anakin did not relish the role of inquisitor, and this had not been a particularly fun mission. He was eager to see it finished, for more than one reason.

He ran the last few paces, jogging down the steps that took him to the holotable at the center of the comm room. Master Plo Koon was already there, turning to nod at Anakin as he approached, and so was Commander Wolffe. The relevant Centares officials - Minister Hato, one of two ministers who served as co-heads of state for the planet, and Head Consular Doerne - barely acknowledged Anakin’s presence, which was fine with him.

He’d arrived before Ahsoka, which was really all he cared about.

“Morning, Master Plo.”

“If you can call it that,” rumbled Plo Koon’s deep voice, filtered through his rebreather. “I think it’s still closer to the time at which people on this planet go to sleep than the time they awaken.”

At this point, Anakin’s concept of time was more than a little warped. He was pretty sure he’d slept at least five hours the night before they’d landed on Centares. Was that the day before he’d found Obi-Wan? He honestly wasn’t sure.

“I don’t think the minister and his staff find the hour to their liking,” said Anakin, and Master Plo turned slightly to survey the Centares delegation across the holotable.

Minister Hato was a tall man, intensely driven and detailed. His loyalty to his government and sense of personal responsibility had quickly made it obvious that he had nothing to do with the Separatist infiltration, but that didn’t mean he was comfortable with the sudden descent of the Republic military onto his planet. The tension pouring off him was palpable in the Force, and he looked tired.

Hato’s discomposure, though, was nothing to Head Consular Doerne’s. She was strung so tight it was a miracle she didn’t snap at the slightest touch. Practically as soon as they had landed, Anakin had pegged Doerne for the source of the leak. Her extreme defensiveness and hostility had to mean she was guilty of something, right?

Even though the culprit had turned out to be a lower-ranked consular on her staff, and Anakin had ended up chasing somebody else pell-mell through the city, Doerne hadn’t been mollified at all. Standing at the minister’s shoulder, she had her arms crossed stiffly over her perfectly pressed uniform. Conferring with one of her staffers, she resolutely avoided even acknowledging the Jedi with as much as a glance.

“Hm,” said Master Plo. “I don’t think it is necessarily the _hour_ they dislike.”

Anakin snorted. “Yeah, you might be right.”

At first, Anakin had been ticked off by the Centares’ attitude. Who, exactly, was out there every day risking their necks against the Seps so that everyone on Centares could live a relatively peaceful life, even during a galactic civil war? Who had _already_ poured so much blood and ordinance into retaking this planet from autocratic Separatist control once? Not kriffing Head Counselor Doerne.

And they thought they had the right to be irritated, when they were the ones selling secrets! What a joke.

Now, it felt like years separated Anakin from those long-ago feelings, even though he knew it had been just days. All he could spare for the planetary ministers at the moment was a trickle of detached amusement. He was so done with this mission, these concerns about information flow and jurisdiction. The OEI reader with its collected data — the answer to Obi-Wan’s mystery, the key to saving his master — burned a hole in his belt pouch.

Anakin nearly told Master Plo to start the briefing and forget waiting, but he remembered how he’d totally disregarded Ahsoka in his impatience yesterday. She wasn’t late, not yet, and he didn’t need to blow her off again. Instead, barely leashing his need to act, Anakin waited.

Only a few minutes later, Ahsoka and Rex appeared together. What a surprise.

“Snips! Glad you could finally make it.” So maybe he’d engaged his limited patience on her behalf, but Anakin certainly wasn’t above a little teasing.

Ignoring half the staircase in a quick leap, Ahsoka landed next to him and narrowed her eyes. It took Rex a couple more steps. “We went by your room to meet you, but I guess you beat us here,” said Ahsoka, the lilt in her voice as innocent as it was pointed. “It’s like you didn’t even sleep, or something.”

He’d _told_ her he might not be back last night, but he really didn’t want to discuss it in front of Master Plo or the Centares delegation, and she knew it. Anakin coughed. “So, ah. Master Plo, what do you have for us?”

Master Plo’s impassive gaze rested on him for a second, and then he activated the holotable with one long finger. “Nothing too taxing, Skywalker. This morning, you’ll be targeting two Separatist communication relay stations in the Centares system. Using the information gained from the databanks of the four planetside outposts we discovered yesterday, we were able to triangulate their locations almost exactly.”

From showing a 3D image of the planet Centares, transparent and rotating slowly on its axis, the holo display zoomed out so that the entire system could be seen. Several planets lay between Centares and the system’s sun, and several more traced orbits beyond it. Two small red dots stood out, blinking slowly against the blue of the rest of the holomap.

“They’re out in space?” asked Ahsoka. “Are they on ships?”

“No.” Plo Koon shook his head, moving the display to shrink back down in scale, focusing on the red dots. Past Centares and the next planet further from the sun, what looked like a debris field became visible as the display magnified. “They’re actually on asteroids.”

“Oh.” Ahsoka raised her eyebrows, facial markings arching in surprise. “That’s... innovative.”

“That’s the Naz-7 asteroid belt, between the planets Quasqi and Nizon. There used to be an azetal gas harvesting operation out there decades ago.” Doerne stepped forward, indicating the area with a sweep of her hand. “Some of the asteroids completely crumbled. It’s a natural minefield now, practically - extremely hazardous area to fly anything larger than a light freighter into. But some of the asteroids are still hollowed out, with the remnants of the industrial equipment that no one cared to clean up still there. It’s possible these bases were set up during the Separatist occupation of the system early in the war, and never discovered,” she explained. “The asteroid field is shared space. Centares has no jurisdiction to conduct independent military action out there.”

“The Republic does,” said Anakin. “I’ll take Red Squadron out and have those Sep bases destroyed before lunch.”

“I’m counting on it, Skywalker,” rumbled Master Plo, “but there’s a problem you may encounter. We need at least one of these two outposts intact.”

“Ah.”

“Just as the planetside databanks were valuable to us, these Separatist computers may be even more so. It is vital we extract all the information possible from them and, to do that, we must send a landing team.”

Anakin winced slightly. They’d have to wear enviro-suits, and breaking into a defended facility from the outside, on a low-gravity asteroid while wearing an oxygen suit extremely vulnerable to tears and punctures from something like, say, blaster fire? It didn’t sound fun.

“There is no atmosphere on these asteroids, obviously. Given the high cost and very obvious electromagnetic footprint that would be left by maintaining some kind of life support system, plus the logistical inconvenience of having to transport food and other supplies - it’s likely these facilities are staffed solely by droids. So I don’t expect you to face too much resistance from that quarter. The problem will be the self-destruct protocols.”

“Oh, come on,” said Ahsoka.

“Just like the bases we knocked over yesterday,” Anakin agreed, shaking his head. “Only they just had mass deletion procedures for the files on their servers. These whole asteroids will be rigged to blow.”

It only made sense, especially when there was nothing there for the Seps to lose except droids. That meant they’d have to race the clock, as well, or end up as part of the debris field themselves.

“And as soon as we commence attack on one of the asteroids, the other will know about it,” he realized, with dawning frustration. They were communication relays, of course they’d be in contact with each other. “They’ll start the self destruct countdown simultaneously. Which means we need to do a simultaneous assault.”

“I thought we only needed to capture one base, Master. Why not let the other one blow?”

No, they couldn’t do that. Why? Anakin’s instincts were racing ahead of his thoughts, and he scrambled to catch back up.

It was Doerne who said, “The intra-system traffic lanes. Both of these asteroids are placed near enough to the edge of the belt that the explosive destruction of one would spray all the Quasqi lanes with debris like shrapnel.”

“Is there any way to shut traffic down, get everyone clear?”

“It would take hours,” said Anakin grimly. “The Seps would have plenty of time to either clear out before we arrive, or blow the asteroids anyway.”

Ahsoka crossed her arms. “Well, okay then. You take one and I’ll take the other?”

“Looks like that’s how it’s gonna be, Snips. Bet I can lock mine down before you can get yours.”

“Yeah, I don’t know about that, Master,” Ahsoka said, tone making it perfectly clear that she intended to win that bet.

Crossing his own arms in unconscious mimicry of his padawan, Anakin turned to Master Plo. “We’ll still take Red Squadron. They can provide cover and subdue any unexpected resistance, while Ahsoka and I launch simultaneous assaults on the two asteroids from CR-20s. Feel like joining us, Rex?”

“Wouldn’t miss it, sir.”

“We expect pretty minimal defenses, so I’m hoping we can prioritize the clock and bang out two pretty quick infils — but since we don’t really know what we’re facing, we’ll go in prepared for the worst.”

Minister Hato exchanged a look with Doerne. “I don’t need to remind you what a disaster this would be if one of those asteroids blows, and we haven’t even warned the shipping lanes—”

“No, you don’t,” Anakin cut him off. “We’ll get it done, Master Plo.”

Master Plo nodded once. “I have no doubt. We will monitor your progress from command, and the coordinates have already been transmitted to the fleet. Transport should be prepared to receive you in the hangar, and you are cleared to depart immediately.”

“Yes, Master.”

Anakin was turning, gathering Ahsoka and Rex with a look and moving to leave, when Master Plo added, “May the Force be with you, Skywalker.” He had clasped his hands in front of him, as inscrutable as ever, but Anakin could sense the vague ripple of what he’d learned was Master Plo’s amusement. He looked at the Hato and Doerne, both extremely uncomfortable at the mention of the Force, and grinned.

“May the Force be with you.”

“He didn’t say may the Force be with _me_ ,” Ahsoka whispered as she followed him up the stairs and back towards the Rotunda hangar.

“He already knows the Force is with you, Snips.”

Ahsoka laughed, because apparently she thought Anakin was joking. Bouncing up beside him, she said, “Sooooooo. Did you find whatever you were looking for in the city?”

“Who says I was looking for something?” Briefly, Anakin thought about Rex, following them and definitely hearing all of this, but realistically the odds that he hadn’t already heard everything Ahsoka knew about Anakin’s shady behavior were minimal.

“You were. You were all geared up, and had that look in your eye.”

Anakin scoffed. “What look?”

“The I’m-going-to-save-the-galaxy-whether-it-likes-being-saved-or-not look. So? Did you save it?”

The OEI reader in his belt pouch was a weight Anakin felt with every step he took. “No,” he said. “Not yet.”

“Are you going back? Cause we probably don’t have that much time left on this planet. If you need any help-”

“Talk to me about your plan for the asteroid, Ahsoka.” He ignored her stifled groan. “You’ll have one CR-20, twenty clones, the support of Red Squadron, and about eight to ten minutes from the time they start tracking our approach. How do you bust open that base?”

“Lay down cover fire, land, and blow the entrance with thermal charges,” said Ahsoka, instantly. After a second, she added, “They probably won’t have much in the way of long-range defenses, right? Since the whole place is some kind of repurposed mining shaft? So, Red Squadron can cover us like I said, but we probably won’t have to worry about ion cannons or force fields or anything. We’ll toss in some droid poppers after we blow the doors and then take the place on foot.”

“What do you think, Rex?”

“Sounds good to me, General. Although I’d like to hear more about the landing.”

“What do you mean?”

Ahsoka turned around to look at Rex, walking backward beside Anakin. They were in the hangar, heading toward the LAAT/i that would take them into the atmosphere were the _Resolute_ waited to take them the rest of the way. Walking without looking, Ahsoka might have slammed her head into the wing of any given parked starfighter, or tripped over a mouse droid, but she rode Anakin’s perceptions in the Force and was able to duck and continue on like it was nothing.

“Well, we won’t know where on the asteroid the entrance is, Commander,” said Rex. “There are probably only going to be a few places we can land a CR-20 on an asteroid. It’s possible we might use up a lot of time just getting from our landing site to the door.”

“They wouldn’t have made the entrance too far away from a reasonable landing site. Whoever made the facility had to land their own rigs all the time, back when they were mining gas, right?”

“Whatever they were landing probably wasn’t the size of our troop carrier.”

“...Ah.” Ahsoka frowned hard, all her focus bent on the problem.

Putting a hand out, Anakin caught her before she tripped backwards over the ramp and into the LAAT/i.

“Morning, General!” called the clone pilot. “Commander, Captain. You ready to get out there?”

“More than, Juke!” Anakin jumped into the transport bay. When Ahsoka and Rex had climbed in, he kicked the lever to retract the ramp. “Any more prep to do?”

“No, sir. I was just waiting for you.”

“All right, then take us to atmo.”

“Copy that, General.”

Juke settled himself in the cockpit and the bay doors slid closed. Since the LAAT/i was empty except for them, Ahsoka wasted no time in taking one of the aft seats. Usually, LAAT/i transport involved a lot more standing and hanging onto one of the overhead grab rails. As they took off, silence reigned for a brief while as the engine roar overwhelmed all other sound, but when they were in the air and cruising Ahsoka started picking Rex’s brain again about the asteroid assault.

“What about the gravity,” she was saying, and Rex was talking about jetpacks.

Rex was a good man, and Anakin knew he could trust both of them to look out for each other. Ahsoka was fully capable of leading her command — she was often brilliant, even — but it was still a relief to have steady, experienced Rex there to guide and check her exuberance when Anakin himself couldn’t. He had his own plan for taking the asteroid base, and he wouldn’t let Ahsoka head out until he was sure she had a strategy that would hold up, but it sounded like she and Rex were coming up with some pretty decent ideas.

“Oh, and there’s one more thing you should check, Snips,” Anakin interrupted, remembering.

“Huh? What?”

“How are your ‘sabers?”

Ahsoka squinted at him. “They’re fine?”

“When was the last time you checked their vacuum seal?”

“Ha! That... would probably be important,” said Ahsoka, grinning. She checked over both her ‘sabers, making sure they were fit for combat in the vacuum of space, and didn’t have time to do much else. The short trip up to the _Resolute_ was over in minutes and, as soon as they felt the slight grind of the LAAT/i landing in the star destroyer’s hangar, it was go time.

They stepped off the transport in lockstep, the changed surroundings barely noticed, as familiar as a second skin. “I’ll get the men assembled and brief them on the general details of the mission, General,” said Rex. “We should be prepared for your specific orders by oh-four-hundred.”

“Good, I’ll see you then. And get Ordinance to make sure we have enough gravity wells in working order to go around.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Gravity wells?” Ahsoka asked, eyes sharp with interest. “Is that part of your—”

“You just work on your own strategy, Snips,” said Anakin. “I wanna hear it before the briefing, okay?”

Flicking her lekku, Ahsoka sniffed. “Sure, Master. And where are _you_ going?”

“I have to check in with Yularen.” Stopping in front of a lift, Anakin said, “I’ll catch up with you back here.”

Ahsoka’s reply was muffled as the lift door closed, but Anakin was pretty sure it included some kind of affirmative, give or take the sass. Which was completely uncalled-for, because Anakin had been completely honest about his plans. Mostly. He did go directly to the bridge and speak to Admiral Yularen.

There wasn’t all that much to say — it was a simple mission as far as most of the crew of the _Resolute_ was concerned. The admiral, used to commanding an entire fleet through chaotic space battles, barely batted an eye at moving a single star destroyer into position not even a full astronomical unit away. Since Anakin had been planetside for several days, there were some administrative matters Yularen felt he should be apprised of, but overall they were good to go. The _Resolute_ had received the coordinates of the two asteroid bases from ground command with no problem and was in uninterrupted communication with Master Plo and the rest of the Rotunda. Satisfied, Anakin gave Yularen the go-ahead to move out.

Then, he went straight to the medbay.

The _Resolute’s_ medbay wasn’t as enormous or as well-equipped as a medical frigate or medical station, but it was big enough to be able to deploy three fully operational Rimsoos and, at the moment, it was mostly empty. Critically injured clones had been transferred to Kaliida Shoals, and it had been long enough since their last major campaign that most of those less injured had recovered enough to no longer need twenty-four-hour medbay care. That did mean the staff had more leisure to notice Anakin’s unusual presence, but the troopers were too well-trained to do anything but salute and then go back about their business.

Except for Kix. He straightened up from where he was filling his medpack with extra bacta bandages and saluted. “General! Everything all right? This is the last place I’d expect to see you, at least while you’re conscious.”

“I think you’ve got me mixed up with my Master,” said Anakin, before Kix’s slight frown reminded him that nobody in the 501st had ever even met Obi-Wan. “No, everything’s fine, Kix. I’m just looking for the Commander. Have you seen him?”

“I think he’s in his office, for once.”

It actually took Anakin a minute to remember where, exactly, that office was. Maybe Kix was right about him avoiding the medbay. He eventually found it, though, and without having to stoop to asking one of the medics.

The office was a tiny room, situated with doors to both the surgery chambers and medbay command center, and more of a private command station than an administrative space. Commander Neo, chief medical officer of the 501st Legion, stood with his arms crossed facing a rapidly scrolling holo readout. “General,” he said, pausing the projection as soon as he noticed Anakin’s presence. “What can I do for you?”

“I won’t take too much of your time, Commander, if you’re in the middle of something—”

“I am at your disposal, General. I hear we’re heading back into combat?”

Anakin squinted at Neo. He moved far enough into the office to allow the door to close behind him. The clone commander waited, hands behind his back, with every appearance of mechanical compliance. Neo might look as clean-cut and sterile as the medbay he ran, but Anakin could sense weariness sunk deeply into even the walls of the place.

“Yes, but it’s just an incision mission. We won’t even be leaving the system, and I’ll do my best to make sure you won’t have any new residents when we get back.”

“I appreciate that, General.”

The commander said nothing else. Clearly, he was still waiting to find out what had prompted Anakin’s visit. Stalling, not even totally sure why he was doing it, Anakin said, “That looks like the latest field intelligence report.” He nodded at the holo readout.

“Yes. It’s — well.” Neo sighed. “There have been instances of Separatist forces in the Outer Rim using armor-piercing slugthrowers instead of blasters.”

Anakin winced.

Though relatively unusual, slugthrowers were more common on remote, less-developed worlds. He remembered seeing several examples of the damage and disfigurement they could cause on Tatooine, and he’d even been wounded by a slug once as a padawan. It was much more painful, more likely to fester and get infected, and more difficult to treat than a blaster wound. “Just what we need.”

“Yes,” said Neo, drawing out the word scornfully. “Given our luck, it’s likely we’ll face these things sooner rather than later. I’m trying to figure out how I can equip our Rimsoos to deal with this, next time we deploy them. They’re already given _half_ the supplies they really need, and slug wounds are so much more complicated to deal with than blaster burns.”

“Let me know if I can do anything, get anything for you.” There were so many horrible ways to die on the battlefield. Anakin had lost men crushed under tanks, blown to bits by cannons, ravaged by wild animals, suffocated slowly as their life support failed. “Whatever I can do to keep this from turning into another Jabiim.”

Neo raised an eyebrow at him. “Thank you. If you could somehow get Kamino to deliver on the Phase III armor they’ve been promising us for months...”

“Yeah.” The commander was joking, the equivalent of a casual jab at government inefficiency, but Anakin cocked his head slightly. Shaak Ti was on Kamino. He could at least include a line in his next report to the Council, make some inquiries. “I don’t know. I’ll see what I can do.”

Now Neo eyed Anakin openly, disbelief and curiosity prickling in the Force. After a minute, he seemed to decide something and crossed his arms. “I suspect that’s not why you came to see me, though, General.”

“No. I have, well. I have kind of a personal question.” Bad choice of words. That made it sound like Anakin had some kind of a disease. “A medical question. Not related to the mission, or the war at all,” he explained. “It’s highly confidential. I need a second opinion, but like I said, it’s unrelated to the mission, so I understand if you don’t feel it’s within the scope of your duties.”

Shoulders straightening, Neo nodded at Anakin. “On the contrary. What’s the question, sir?”

Anakin let out a long breath, exhaling both his nerves and gratitude. “I came across a neural implant recently, that seems to have some odd effects. Its supposedly for, uh, relieving symptoms of past trauma, like tremors and seizures, but I’m concerned it might be doing some other things, too.”

“Can I assume this implant isn’t yours, or any of the troops’?”

“Yes.”

“And you think it might be doing something more harmful than nerve correction?”

“Yeah,” said Anakin.

It was really, really unpleasant to think about, honestly. Because if Obi-Wan’s implant wasn’t what he thought, then Ventress had put it there. And if Ventress had put it there, he was carrying part of her torture around with him, and she was _still_ tormenting him, even after he’d escaped. And if _that_ was the case, then he needed that implant gone as soon as physically possible.

“I was able to take an organic electronic impulse read of the thing, and even I can see that its type and direction of stimulation isn’t consistent with what a typical nerve correction implant would be doing. A civilian doctor was able to tell me it wasn’t like anything she’d ever seen before, but that’s not very informative, and I’m no expert. I was hoping you might be able to crosscheck the reading, and find out what type of implant this thing actually is.”

Neo’s eyebrows arched and stayed there, but he accepted the OEI scanner from Anakin and didn’t ask any of the thousands of questions that must have occurred to him by now. When he pulled up the device’s analysis of Obi-Wan’s implant, all he did was make a thoughtful noise under his breath. Slowly, he frowned, and as he scrolled further through the information his expression only darkened.

“Yes,” he said belatedly, “I’ll check the database for anything similar.”

Anakin waited as Neo connected the OEI scanner to the central console, replacing the slugthrower report readout with the scanner’s analysis of Obi-Wan’s implant. Flipping through several menu options, Neo downloaded the electronic footprint of the implant and set the system searching to compare it with those of all known implant types.

“This might take a while. But I don’t think—” He stopped, crossing his arms and tightening his jaw. “Well, I’ll wait to see the results of the search before I make any conclusions. Any chance you could tell me who, exactly, this piece of shady hardware belongs to?”

“No,” Anakin said. “But I’m afraid that at one point, it might have belonged to Ventress.”

Neo hissed softly. “Then this might not take that long after all.”

What he meant by that, Anakin didn’t know. He barely had time to think about asking and decide not to, before the console beeped shrilly. A rotating diagram of an implant system lit up in red against the figure of a human body in blue was thrown up on holo, and Anakin moved immediately to read what it said. He read the first paragraph and thoroughly confused himself before he realized that Neo hadn’t moved at all.

“This says ‘compliance augmentation’...?”

Slow with reluctance, Neo said, “Yes, General. That other doctor had probably never seen something like this before because this implant isn’t _medical_.”

“But you know what it is?”

“Yes. My, ah, training included preparation for a lot of things no Mid Rim civilian doctor would expect to encounter. This implant seems to fit the specs for a line of modification chips meant to... _alter_ the subject’s attitude by restricting their access to certain lines of thought. Illegal within the Republic, of course, but most slave traders don’t particularly care what the Republic thinks of their methods.”

Anakin stepped back as if he’d been slapped. He focused on Neo’s expression of grim distaste and worked to pull his thoughts out of the tailspin they were plunging into. “I don’t remember—” No. “I’ve _heard_ of tracking chips that would detonate a slave if they strayed too far from an approved radius, but — lines of _thought_? That doesn’t sound familiar.”

“It’s a more sophisticated technology,” said Neo. “I believe it’s popular with the luxury slave trade, especially among the Zygerrians. Owners find their slaves more tractable if they are blocked from thinking about a time in the past when they were free. Sometimes the implants provide mental conditioning, to train the slave to avoid thinking about certain subjects too long or too deeply.”

“Like escape, or a loved one.” _Or the Jedi Order._ Anakin felt gutted, like someone had reached in and scooped out his insides with a vibroblade.

“Exactly. And some models deliver physical punishment if the slave attempts to fight or defy the implant’s programming.”

Like a shock to the kriffing brain stem, for instance. Whoops, wrong conversation topic — here, have a seizure.

Anakin thought about the careful blankness in Obi-Wan’s eyes whenever he had come close to mentioning the Jedi, about why he always had the strangest feeling that he shouldn’t talk about the Force in Obi-Wan’s presence. The only time he’d ignored those instincts, Obi-Wan had collapsed. Apparently, that had been the implant putting him through a painful neural storm as _punishment_.

Anakin’s hands were fisted so tightly his muscles ached. Even though Neo wasn’t Force-sensitive, he kept the black hurricane of fury swirling inside him locked down. Scrambling for perspective, he thought about Obi-Wan’s smiles. Obi-Wan was alive, physically unhurt, probably asleep right now on the planet below. Obi-Wan was _alive_. He could still fix this.

“Thank you,” he told Neo, trying not to push the words through gritted teeth.

Neo nodded, watching him with sympathy just disguised enough to be professional.

When Anakin felt he could do it without destroying Neo’s office, he opened himself a little to the Force and tried to breathe. “I’m assuming there’s a way to _remove_ these things, safely.”

“The slaver who programmed the implant in the first place will have a specific electronic key to deactivate it, and then it can be removed like any other implant. Without that key, the procedure is still mechanically as simple as any implant removal, but most chips are programmed to self-protect by influencing the slave themselves to resist removal.”

 _I need that thing_.

“Sith hells.” _Focus_ , Anakin told himself. This wasn’t about his anger — this was about helping Obi-Wan. _Focus, Skywalker_. “Is— Is there anything else I should know?”

“Not off the top of my head, no, but all the information is there.” Neo nodded at the holo still displaying the diagram of the implant. “Take it. The entry should tell you anything you need.”

With halting movements, Anakin downloaded the file on the implant to the OEI scanner and then tucked it back into his belt. “Thank you, Commander.” He should have said something about hearing duty calling, or assure Neo he’d remember about the Phase III armor, but Anakin didn’t have the concentration to spare.

“Of course, General.” Neo was still looking at him, wariness and concern mingled. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”

Anakin nodded. “Yes — thank you — I will—” He had to move, to get out. Barely noticing Neo’s salute, Anakin left the office behind him and swept through the medbay like a theta storm, heedless of anything but his own barely-leashed wrath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -*fighting noises* AHHHHHHHH
> 
> CITATIONS:  
> -None!


End file.
